


Fire, Light and Beauty

by Valkiriana



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: (So slow), Alternate Universe - Historical, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Historically Ambiguous, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkiriana/pseuds/Valkiriana
Summary: There's something violent about the way people act when they're driven by desire.Seoho knows it all too well.(Geonhak's mistake, if he says so himself, is not thinking Seoho desires him just as much, just as violently)
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	1. Light me up

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back after a million years I'm sorry. I'm rebranding the series as a continued story because several people read them out of order and I think they miss out on a lot on the experience. Also I've been struggling to finish this and I'm hoping the change will push me into seeing this as "unfinished" and motivate me to keep writing. Idk you guys, blame my aquarian ass ascendant. (Dont worry tho, i saved all of ur comments hehe)
> 
> If you're new to this, welcome to this journey! This fic is inspired in the vestal virgins from the roman empire, and the whole paganism vs monotheism issue, so fair warning that this implies war and death and many ugly things that are only mild mentioned. Most of this is like a relationship study and I don't focus much on plot. Also warning for my dramatic ass self that can't leave one parragraph alone without making it extra. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

The siege lasts two weeks and then, the city is theirs. 

Geonhak gets off his horse amidst the chaos of pained screams, the pleads of the people who have gathered around the only temple to pray to the goddess for their lives, for their loved ones, for their homes.  
  
Geonhak pays the pagans no mind as his soldiers escort him into the big marble gate that has been forced open after a whole day of trying. His men push away everyone in his way with brute force than Geonhak shall most likely, reprimand lately. These aren’t their enemies after all.  
  
Some of them cry for mercy, some others make a last pitiful attempt at an attack, holding tightly onto their pride, with sticks and rocks, or rusty little blades that haven’t been used in ages. But nothing touches him, nothing can reach him.  
  
Years in the military life have toughen up Geonhak. The piercing shriek of metal hitting metal doesn’t hurt his ears anymore, the screams of women and children don’t make his stomach churn in horror, his nose doesn’t scrunch up in disgust at the smell of blood and burnt meat. Not even the sight of death can make his eyes wet, or his heart squeeze.  
  
“Once inside the chamber, nobody can touch them, am I understood?” The general asks, loud enough for his soldiers to hear, as they trespass the gates of the temple and a barricade of his best men line up behind him, preventing the screaming crown to enter into the temple too. A chorus of obedient agreements is what he gets in response.  
  
Geonhak trusts his men, but he’s also wary, on high alert. The siege took longer than expected and although the victory was obtained with minor casualties on both parties after a peaceful surrender from the city’s side, his soldiers are tired and hungry, and rather blood thirsty. They travelled for days and camped for even more days still, with little food for their bodies to feed, on edge everyday for an imminent battle that never came -for killing a few rebels was not nearly enough to satiate men as well trained as them. Now they’re delirious in their triumph, overjoyed with sweet victory in a way that makes them aggressive, harsh, unpredictable.  
  
He too feels rather restless as he’s lead across the walls of the beautiful temple. It’s most likely the most beautiful piece of architecture he’s ever seen yet he can’t make himself appreciate any of it. There’s a tension in the air that he’s never felt before, it makes it hard to breath. He feels anxious, high-strung… excited.  
  
Geonhak is excited.  
  
He is about to witness that which has only been depicted to him in tales: the beauty of the temple virgins, those who cannot be touched, the keepers of the eternal sacred flame, the earthly representation of the Goddess’ favour for the city.  
  
A beautiful lie.  
  
Pagan practices that Geonhak was entrusted to end.  
  
And end them he will, but maybe he’ll claim a prize for himself, if such tales are true, and eyes cannot see truer beauty in this earth than that of the sacred fire keepers, the beauty of those priests and priestesses that have never been touched.  
  
It feels like an eternity has passed when they finally reach the golden doors of the sacred fire chamber, where two soldiers are stationed, keeping guard already. Geonhak schools his expression into one of solemnity and authority, and the guards straighten up, saluting.  
  
“Anyone in or out?”  
  
“No, sir!”  
  
“How many are left?”  
  
“...one, sir.”  
  
Geonhak tenses up, and there’s a slow murmur behind him that he silences with a single hand movement. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes, trying to ignore the weight of his armour that suddenly feels heavier than before.  
  
“Youngjo?” He calls, his most entrusted captain stepping forward right behind him. “Six, you told me there were six of them.”

“There was only one when we arrived, we swept the entire place, but we only found slaves and servants. They must have escaped during the siege, sir.” Youngjo replies in close to his ear and Geonhak clenches his teeth, dismissing him with an annoyed hand motion. 

One.  
  
One is good enough, he thinks to himself, and promptly pushes the door open.  
  
The heat that licks at his skin is almost overwhelming, the orange hues of the fire blinding him for a moment. So he stands there, letting his body and his eyes get used to the temperature, to the brightness until he can see again.  
  
The sight that greets him is both powerful and vulnerable, and fit for one of his war tales.  
  
The chamber is tall and round, white, empty, except for the sacred flame in the middle of the room, burning tall and mighty. Yet, It is not the magnificence of the fire that lures him in, that leaves him speechless and unaware of his surroundings for a moment, but the figure kneeling in front of it, all clad in white with their head hanging low as if in prayer, completely unbothered by Geonhak’s loud arrival, the defeat and destruction of the city that he serves to.  
  
The way his body curves, but only slightly makes Geonhak realize it’s a him, and somehow the realization makes his heart skip a beat, breathless in anticipation to see the face of a stranger whose back has made such an impact on him.  
  
Geonhak inhales the impossible warm air and steps closer, firm and decided. He’s won battles without trembling, so how is it that a mere little faceless boy can disarm him so?  
  
“Your city has fallen, priest. You need not protect this fire any longer, your goddess has deserted you. I am your ruler now, the one you shall pledge loyalty to” Geonhak speaks, his loud, deep voice reaching the depths of the round chamber.  
  
There’s a moment where it seems like the creature before him has not heard- or refuses to. But mere seconds later, the white fabric moves, and his head is lifted, hair the colour of the sun, of gold, a colour Geonhak has never seen any mortal possess ever before.  
  
The boy’s head turns, and the profile that greets the General is shadowed by the fire, looking as sharp and smooth as the tales claimed it would be. He says nothing, and Geonhak is intrigued by this young priest that won’t tremble in his presence, that won’t beg for his life nor show any fear. It’s unsettling.  
  
He hears rather than sees one of his soldiers touch his sword, perhaps in anger than someone dares disrespect his leader. But Geonhak is determined on remaining civil. This is a sacred place for the people, and this young man is a sacred priest. If he wants to ensure his position as future ruler, he shall do no more harm than necessary. He needs him alive, after all. Preferably unharmed.  
  
“Where are the others?” He asks, calm, yet body tense.  
  
The young priest turns his head back to the fire, and straightens up even more, looking up at the round ceiling. 

  
“Far away from here. Far away from you. Safe.” Comes the soft, daring reply from a voice as smooth as the finest silk, unwavering.  
  
“What’s your name, boy?” Geonhak asks, as if mesmerized, and if he was as gullible as his youngest colleagues he’d think he’s been bewitched by this pagan in front of him.  
  
“My name?” The man finally looks back at him over his shoulder, his eyes beautifully fierce, looking right through him and into his very soul, it leaves him breathless, the beauty of his face, the depth of his glare, how utterly precious he is, as if daring Geonhak to desire him.  
“What does a name mean for someone like you? You have no respect for what’s sacred, you’ll have no respect for my name.” He says and gracefully stands up, defiantly standing in front of what might as well be an entire army for him. “If what you wish is to kill the sacred flame, then you will have to kill me first, and my name shall die with me.”  
  
Outnumbered, disadvantaged and more Geonhak somehow feels like he is the one being threatened, for not knowing this beautiful man’s name would be worse of a punishment than defeat.  
  
“I am Kim Geonhak, General of the Eagle Legion. I’ve conquered this city with honor and respecting the lives of the civilians that cooperated with me. My men here have fought bravely and honestly, and as a gesture of good will, I swear, with my God as a witness that the fire shall remain, unwavering, as long as you tell me your name and willingly come with me.” Geonhak rushes to declare, his eyes just as strong, fixed on the alluring, delicate looking priest that shows no sign of surrendering any time soon.  
  
The priest stares at him for what feels like an eternity and eventually, he looks down, leaving Geonhak dazed, perhaps even more intrigued than before. He wonders how is it possible for someone who’s been locked away in a beautiful temple for most of his life, untouched, kept away from the world and the hardships of life to be so fierce and determined.

“Lee Seoho.” The priest murmurs, almost like a sigh he can’t quite contain. He lifts his chin, the fire casting powerful shades on the sides of his face. “My name is Lee Seoho, I’m one of the keepers of the Goddess’ eternal, sacred flame. And as long as you keep your promise, General, and respect my traditions, I’ll be loyal to you.”  
  
Geonhak knows right away that this is a smart man. Geonhak is aware what those traditions are, and Seoho speaks with the air of someone who has a certain leverage to negotiate. The fact that this young priest knows Geonhak needs him, alive and unharmed to earn the obedience of the people astounds him, for it took his own advisors a long time to figure out exactly how important the temple keepers were in the plan to transform the city into his own.

“You planned this.” Geonhak states, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Leaving only one priest, the smartest one, to negotiate the future of the temple and the flame, it’s an incredibly clever- risky move Geonhak is very willing to respect. If Seoho takes his life, if somehow he is harmed, simply touched, and the flame accidentally puts out, Geonhak is to get ready for a whole riot, one that he’d rather avoid. And Seoho knows this, too. Touching him is a direct disrespect towards the goddess, something neither the civilians, nor their defeated, small army are willing to forgive.  
  
His statement is left unreplied, but the general does a small bow, full smirk in place as Seoho regards him, chest rising and falling unevenly. The priest has sealed his fate long ago, but it’s probably only now that he realizes just how real this all is, his future so uncertain.

“It seems like we have reached an agreement, Lee Seoho, keeper of the eternal flame.”  
  
Geonhak steps closer, and then some more until they are inches apart. He is even more beautiful up close, stunning even, and if his men weren’t there, Geonhak would willingly spend hours just looking at him. The boy flinches at the General’s sudden movement, and it gives him such a rush of power, Geonhak isn’t sure how he’ll be able to keep his hands off the other until he somehow manages to convince Seoho to be his. But he will, no matter how long it takes.  
  
Geonhak unties his red cape without getting his eyes off the other. This close, he can appreciate the alluring color of his hair, he can see the shine on his smooth, white skin from being so close to the fire, he can see the little drops of sweat running down his neck, how his lips are slightly parted, breathing quite harsh even if he pretends as though he is unaffected.

Lee Seoho, a priest of a fake goddess, a temple virgin, keeper of the eternal sacred flame of the city. Strong. Smart. Beautiful.  
  
Geonhak wants him like he’s never wanted anyone else in his life.  
  
Seoho seems to recoil when Geonhak gently drapes his cape around the boy’s shoulders, careful not to touch his skin, his hair. It leaves the young priest wide-eyed, tense.  
  
“Nobody.” Geonhak calls aloud, but his eyes never leave Seoho’s warm ones- suddenly so vulnerable looking . “Nobody can touch this man. If I see anyone’s fingers reach under my cape, touch a single inch of his skin, I will, personally, rip said fingers off.” Geonhak turns around, looking at each and every one of his men. “Am I Understood?” He shouts, receiving a chorus of solemn, obedient agreements before he relaxes and asks Youngjo to pick two reliable men to escort Seoho outside the chamber, not without yet another warning.  
  
“I’ll look after you, I’ll keep you safe.” He tells the priest who is staring back at him with both hate and wonder in his precious eyes.  
  
“I don’t want your protection, Kim Geonhak.” Seoho replies, and before the two soldiers can escort him, he wraps the cape tightly against him and walks outside, the rest of the men making way for him.  
  
He is as regal as a prince, and as untouchable as a god, and Geonhak decides, right there, that he’ll marry that boy, even if it costs him his life.


	2. You Shine Brighter (Than The Burning Sun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he fantasizes with the idea that Seoho will see him, finally see him, swords and armour left aside, nothing to shield him from the truth that he’s just a man, too, and he will understand how brave Geonhak is to bare himself like that, what an act of love it is and then maybe, finally, love him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of an unhealthy relationship considering their context. If someone treats you the way any of these two treat each other, IT'S NOT OKAY.
> 
> Now that we got that out of the way...

Geonhak has known beauty before in his life. He has travelled around the known world ever since he was young, has experienced what it’s like to be desired and loved for more people than he wishes to remember. Because remembering brings back the yearning for simpler times, the painful memories of the separation every time he was to leave whatever place he was stationed for the season, how many times his heart was broken because of who Geonhak is, and what he is to do. He doesn’t wish to remember their faces, how their skin felt against his, the smell of their hair and how full he felt whenever he held them in his arms.  
  
At one point Geonhak stopped caring altogether. People came and went and he didn’t even try to remember their names, too preoccupied with whatever task he had at the moment, invested his time in learning and training, determined to make his father proud, his mother happy, and step up the ranks like his father once did. As he grew older, war after war, battle after battle didn’t leave much space for love or beauty, the gentle touch of caring hands, the sweet whispers of someone who desires to both give and receive.  
  
The doors to his heart were closed. And Geonhak was fine with it.  
  
But now, with a city under his care, a palace for himself, the highest honour under his name at such a young age, Geonhak finally has some sense of stability, knows this is where he’ll stay, where he’ll live. But he still knows no peace, not when certain beautiful boy with hair the colour of the sun, eyes as sweet as honey, yet as fierce as a tiger haunts his nights and his days, reminds him of what he could have, but still doesn't.  
  
Because Lee Seoho is the most beautiful man he’s ever met, the only to ever publicly defy him, to look at him like a mere human instead of a god- or demon, the only not to show fear, love or respect in his eyes even when Geonhak is fully armed, dripping authority.

The heart wants what it wants, but it's not always what it should want. 

Because Seoho hates him, and he doesn’t seem willing to change that anytime soon. And yet, Geonhak’s heart is determined, for once, on him. He wishes no other, can’t wish another, and the mere figure of Seoho walking down the halls of his stolen palace, all clad in white, every day, is but a painful reminder of what Geonhak cannot have. 

...

He wakes up early that morning, the sun barely dissipating the darkness that still lurks from the cold night. He’s used to it. The bad sleeping conditions of camping ever since he was a young man, always in high alert for imminent danger, always too hot or too cold. Not even the soft bedding of his luxurious bed, the cloud like pillows can change that now.

Geonhak is used to starting his day before everyone else. But he’s not the only one anymore.  
  
By the time he reaches the training grounds the sun is up, a grey atmosphere with just enough light to allow him to practice without any lanterns, move around the area easily, his body well used to the basic movements of his blade, the harsh swiftness as he hits the wooden pole over and over again.

Geonhak will never admit it, but the way he’s been training lately, so arduously intense, as if he was still under the stress of war, yet as sleek and gracious as he would before an audience, is all dedicated to a person, and to that person only. 

Even if he pretends he doesn’t see him, that he’s too focused on his lethal training to know he’s there, his beautiful white priest observes his every move from his window, every morning, high and hidden, unreachable, like a hawk. Geonhak doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know Seoho’s there, because it’s not a secret. And if it is, it’s one strictly kept between the two of them, for no one else to know but them.  
  
If it was any other person watching him so intently, so sharply, Geonhak would be on high alert. It seems like he’s being studied. And maybe he is. But Seoho isn’t a danger to him- at least, not a physical one.  
  
Sometimes, when Geonhak has exhausted every single inch of his body, when he can’t even maintain a proper position anymore and his lungs burn as much as that time when he almost drowned in the sea, then, just then, he dares to look up. He meets Seoho’s burning stare and breathes, drops his sword, defeated. He offers himself, his sweaty, exhausted body, more vulnerable than never, for Seoho to see, to appreciate, to hate. Sometimes he fantasizes with the idea that Seoho will see him, finally see him, swords and armour left aside, nothing to shield him from the truth that he’s just a man, too, and he will understand how brave Geonhak is to bare himself like that, what an act of love it is and then maybe, finally, love him too.  
  
Some other days though, when he closes his eyes, he swears he can feel Seoho’s pagan magic rushing inside him, slowly consuming him inside out, and that making himself weak in front of him will only allow the vengeful priest to gain more power over him.  
  
But today is different. There’s no white in the window, yet the feeling of eyes following his every move persists, and Geonhak lowers his sword, stretching his arms into the sky and letting his head hang back for a moment.  
  
“You’re a sneaky little one, aren’t you?” He calls aloud and turns to see the way a white figure disappears behind a column, not fast enough for his acute vision. “Well, there’s no point in hiding anymore, is there?” Geonhak asks, and uses a cloth he left on the floor earlier to dry his face, his chest. “Come on, don’t be shy, how did you manage to slip away without a guard?”  
  
The general hears a little scoff in response and finally, his sunny locks come into view, along with the white, billowy robe that makes Seoho look oh so ethereal. He doesn’t look very pleased to be discovered, but he’s way too proud to show that, Geonhak thinks.  
  
“Your guards are easy to distract.” Is all Seoho offers for an explanation, as he walks around the small area, as mysterious as ever. It makes Geonhak grin, excited to see Seoho here, close to him by his own will. 

“My highly trained guards who have helped me bring down entire empires?” He asks, and picks up his sword again, swinging it a few times while Seoho gives him one single glance before he averts his eyes, looking around. There’s not much to look at, really. “Did you ask your goddess to put them to sleep again or does your magic come from the fire?”  
  
The question makes the priest stop his inspection of the place for a moment, body tense, before he resumes his stroll around the circle where Geonhak is training.  
  
“I’m a priest, Kim Geonhak, not a warlock. I don’t carry runes with me to tell you about your destiny.” His words are harsh, as if offended. It doesn’t sit well with him, seeing him upset. Yet, somehow, he gets a sick satisfaction from it, like finally something he does or say makes Seoho feel something.  
  
“A pagan priest, a warlock. Is there a difference?” Geonhak replies, derisive, while hitting the shaking pole once again. It’ll need replacing soon with how much strength the General puts in each of his strikes.  
  
“There is. But I don’t expect any of you brutes to understand it.” Seoho snickers, and there’s a cruelness to it that he feels to his bones.  
  
“Why are you here?” Geonhak suddenly interrupts the trail of their conversation, frowns at the way he’s so obviously distracted, how his form is off, his movements so shaky.  
  
“There’s no other place I can be. There are guards and servants all over the palace, all ready to take me back to my room.”  
  
The answer makes Geonhak smile, invigorated. There’s just something about the other’s voice that is simply pleasant to him. Like everything about him. “And you thought I wouldn’t?”  
  
“Well you haven’t so far, have you?” Seoho sounds mocking, arrogant, but it just makes him all the more attractive in Geonhak's eyes. He doesn't acknowledge this, though, unwilling to let him win,or make him lose.  
  
“I kept the nicest room all for you, just for you. Do you not find it pleasant?”  
  
“I’m tired of being locked up like an animal.” Seoho refuses to accept the other’s kindness, it would seem, but Geonhak cannot blame him. He stops his walk and leans against the wall, blatantly observing him now, as if eagerly awaiting his reply.  
  
“How is it any different than being in the temple?” Geonhak inquires, glances at him for a moment before he keeps going, grunting a little with the effort. He's not a prey of the other's beauty, he's not.  
  
“I was not a prisoner in the temple.” The priest states firmly, offended once more and he walks, yet again parading himself around like a personal show for only him to see. Geonhak somehow misses his mark, as his eyes betray him and watch Seoho’s graciously walk in front of him, not that far at all, the white fabric swaying behind his elegant shape.

“You’re not a prisoner here.” Geonhak finally gives up with an exhale, body slack and soft, holding onto the pole as he steps the slightest bit closer towards him. He stops fighting himself, fighting against what he feels, what he wants. But his hold is tight, bruisingly so, because he isn’t sure of what he’ll do if he doesn’t anchor himself, he doesn’t trust his lust, his thirst to be close to Seoho, it's like that little battered pole is the only thing keeping him sane and in control, the only thing that keeps him from doing anything stupid.  
  
It takes a moment for the other to reply, and the silence leaves space for the singing of birds, the movements from inside the palace that has slowly awaken and sounds now full of life. “Is that what you tell yourself to quiet your guilt at night for keeping me here? Or can thieves and murderers feel no guilt?”

A screeching pain cuts into Geonhak’s chest, and all his worshipping feelings of love and adoration disappear in a second, leaving emptiness for deep, raw anger to fill, overtaking him. He lets go of the pole and walks over to Seoho, expression solemn, intimidatingly so. Seoho doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step back. He either knows Geonhak can’t hurt him, or that, even if he could, he wouldn’t.  
  
“If you can’t tell the difference between this and a prison, why should I bother making sure you’re comfortable? You better start explaining to me how you’re any different from a warlock, because I will not make a fool of myself by underestimating a pretty face with demonic powers.” He says and his hand reaches up, removing a little piece of fluff tangled in Seoho’s hair. The priest doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. 

It’s a warning.

Geonhak is dangerously close to breaking their pact and he can see, with a twisted, evil kind of pleasure the way the other struggles to stay firm, eyes daringly fixed on his and so full of hatred. It would make anyone tremble. “If I don’t find any good explanation for the strange things surrounding you, maybe I should pay attention to my men who say you’re a danger, and put you somewhere dark, where no one can see your face or fall for your charms. So by all means, do tell me how, if not by magic, all the different guards I put in your door appear to fall into deep slumber within the couple hours, even the ones who are trained to stay awake for days on end.”  
  
The glare he receives in response makes him regretful in an instant, ashamed for lashing out the way he did when he’s always so completely in control of himself. He wants to get down on his knee and gently grab Seoho’s hand, promise him that he will never, ever lash out at him again if only he can assure his poor, confused heart that he is not a master of the dark arts. That what he feels is real, that Seoho isn’t an impure who can bewitch and has indeed bewitched him too, like many others before him. He wants to say that he is sorry, that he would never do such a thing, and please, please forgive him, he is good, he promises, and he needs only to assure his doubts, to dissipate his fears.  
  
But the words get stuck in his throat because of his pride, and by then, he knows Seoho’s opinion of him cannot be worse than it is now. 

“There’s a tree in your stolen garden. Its crust, as an infusion, could make even your largest horse sleep like a child in his mother's arms. I am merely kind, and asked the servants to bring one for me, and then some for the poor guards who work so hard to keep me safe. Just like you promised you’d do.” Seoho answers and walks away, leaving Geonhak to deal with his shame and superstition. He wonders why Seoho replied to him, why he gave away his little trick, knowing that he won’t be able to use it again now. Is it a ploy for Geonhak to trust him? Is he fearful of the fake threat? Or perhaps… perhaps Seoho fears just what Geonhak does: for him to think he’s a monster.  
  
“I did not mean that.” Geonhak calls moments later, like a coward, as Seoho gets close to a big wooden trunk, against a wall full of hung spears and shields.  
  
“Mean what?” Seoho asks, without turning around to look at him, while touching the spears lazily, then tracing his fingers along the carvings of the shields. Geonhak misses looking at his pretty face already. “The part where I’m a demon, or that you’ll lock me away in the dark so no one can see my face?” He asks and turns around to fix the other with a bored look. “Let me ask you one thing, General. Would that mean you wouldn’t look at me either? If I decided to put a veil on my face until I’m too old to be beautiful, if you lock me away in the dark until my beauty fades away to age and loneliness, who do you think would suffer the loss of it ? Me? or you?” He asks, and it leaves Geonhak breathless, unable to reply to such depth that attacks him so unprepared. “I’m not a slave to my beauty. I wasn’t born vain.”  
  
The knowledge that Seoho is aware of just how precious he is to him, that he knows Geonhak would do anything to preserve him that way, within his reach, should disturb him much more than it does. Seoho knows exactly how weak he really is, and he somehow can’t find it in himself to be bothered by it.  
  
“These are rather unsupervised" Seoho comments absentmindedly as he grabs one of the spears, as if he hasn’t just torn Geonhak’s perception of himself apart.

He clears his throat. If Seoho's willing to forget, then so is he. 

“Well, the servants are constantly supervised. The only one who can reach these besides myself is you, apparently.”  
  
“And you’re not worried?”   
  
“About what?” Geonhak asks, frowning.  
  
“About me.”  
  
“...I promised I’d protect you, Lee Seoho, and I will. No one will hurt you under my care.” Geonhak says, earnest, eager to redeem his recent behaviour. But Seoho replies with an amused smile, the first smile he is fortunate enough to see from him, and it’s so bright and pure, completely morphing his fierce features into ones lightened by mild joy, softened towards sweetness instead, similar to those of a kid. Geonhak can’t stop staring, mesmerized. It’s almost contagious in its energy, makes him want to smile too. But maybe it’s too mocking for him to give in, and his only intention is to make fun of him.

“Oh, is that why you train so hard?” The priest asks, and he is definitely mocking in his ways, his voice tilting almost coyly as he turns the spear in his fingers. Geonhak can’t even feel annoyance anymore. He probably deserves this, for being so mean earlier, and also blatantly showing off his skills for a few weeks now, for being proud, ambitious. “I mean, aren’t you worried about me getting my hands on these?” Seoho clarifies, looks up at him a bit serious now. It’s only now, that they’re so close that Geonhak can appreciate the height difference between them. It’s beyond exciting, that the other is smaller than him in every way. He feels strong, comfortable like that.  
  
The question amuses him slightly, but he doesn’t wish to offend the other any further than he already has, so he shakes his head and hopes his smile isn’t as condescending as it feels.  
“You aren’t a threat to me, priest.” He states, but when he tries to grab the spear and put it back in its place, Seoho holds onto it. It makes him tense up. What is he playing at?  
  
A strong little shake and Seoho breaks free from his grip on the weapon, stepping back. With the blunt edge of the spear he presses into Geonhak's stomach until a stinging pain blooms around it and he grunts, smacking it away. Before he can ask what the other is doing, he gets hit on the side, way too fast for him to be able to intercept. Geonhak dodges the next strike and grabs whatever he can- a wooden sword- before he manages to avoid and stop the next few swings, wide-eyed.  
  
Seoho’s eyes are full of determination when they meet his, he hits and moves in a way that tells Geonhak he’s had at least some basic training. But he's also very creative with his attacks, far from predictable or dull. 

It's clear to Geonhak that he doesn’t wish to hurt him- possibly bruise him at most, but he hits hard and Geonhak is still recovering from the shock of being attacked by someone he deemed inoffensive to properly retaliate.  
  
“Stop it!" He demands, unable to strike back, not to him.  
  
“I thought- you- weren’t- worried- about- me!” Comes the reply, each word punctuated by an unforgiving hit.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you!”  
  
“Do not be a coward with me. Are you a general or not?” Seoho huffs as he temporarily halts his attack. He’s visibly tired, probably not used to this kind of exercise anymore, much less now that he’s been limited to staying in his room and walking around the palace and gardens.  
  
The little prod is enough for the pride in him to overtake him for a moment. But his gentle nature wins when it comes to the priest, and he lets go of the wooden sword, arms up showing he means no harm, but he's still wary and ready for an attack.  
  
Seoho looks taken aback by it, but he still frowns, and all the playfulness turns into fury, Geonhak can see it in his eyes.  
  
“Please don’t make this harder.”

"Fight with me." 

"No."  
  
“Why do you offend me like this? Because you want me in your bed you can't treat me like any other man? I'm attacking you, defend yourself!”

The words hit in places that hurt more than any of his strikes, and leave him with a revolting feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“I can’t hurt you.” Geonhak says, almost pleading and trying so hard to appease the priest, because he really does mean it. But it only seems to aggravate the other’s distress, because he swings again, but this time it's sloppy, fueled by anger and directed by emotion. It gives Geonhak the time to intercept the hit, grab the spear and tug it free. But Seoho holds too tightly onto it, and he ends up colliding against his front, wrapped around Geonhak's arms. Yet even then he doesn't accept defeat. The priest struggles and twists and just goes on and on, keeps trying to hit him more, anywhere, however he can until Geonhak manages - with much effort- to grab the other’s delicate wrists and trap him against himself.  
  
“Why are you being so difficult?” He grunts when he finally manages to cross Seoho’s arms over his chest, the other’s back against him, leaving him defenseless in his hold.  
  
The both of them are left breathing unevenly, audibly harshly. It resonates painfully in his ears. 

Geonhak is agitated but makes a point of staying still and quiet as he waits for the other to calm down. However long it may take. Yet he's horrified to find out what he feels instead is Seoho trembling in his hold, a little, voiceless whimper coming from him all of a sudden. Is he- ?  
  
“You’re hurting me-” Geonhak hears in a small, tender whisper that cuts right into his heart.  
  
He lets go as if he’d been burnt, scrambling away in horror.  
  
Revolted with himself, he pants as he steps back and watches the other’s back as he keeps trembling.  
  
What has he done?

He's broken his sacred pact, has tried so desperately to keep him from the harm of others that he forgot to protect him against himself. 

Geonhak looks at his hands for a moment, panicked, did he draw blood? No. He's bruised, then. Oh, no. It kills him to think that he's hurt him, that he somehow tarnished his precious skin with his careless, brute actions. Is he badly hurt? How bad is the damage?  
  
All he wants is to get close, to softly hold him this time, beg, beg for forgiveness, but he can’t, he can't and Seoho keeps crying, his shoulders keep shaking as his little whimpers grow in volume and intensity until he’s fully-  
  
Laughing?  
  
“Oh.” Seoho exhales a moment later as he turns around just in time to watch Geonhak’s baffled, disoriented expression of confusion turn into one of understanding: He’s been played. 

The fake expression of pain is now gone, no trace of tears or fear, no vulnerability. Instead, an amused smirk decorates his face as Seoho glances at him and then smooths his wrinkled robe, crooked by all the moving and struggling. He fixes himself until the only trace that gives away his recent activity is the slight redness on his cheeks, the shine on his skin. 

But Seoho's not bothered by it in the slightest as he regards Geonhak with such blatant airs of superiority and satisfaction.  
  
Before Geonhak can even open his mouth, ask what on earth has just happened, the priest starts walking towards him.  
  
“You’re so easy, Kim Geonhak.” Is sweetly whispered into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. 

The general turns around a second too late, helplessly watching his ethereal white figure walk into the palace.  
  
Seoho leaves him alone to deal with his confusion, to deal with what he can only identify as hurt. He feels betrayed, played like a fool. Humiliated even, because he was, indeed, taken for a fool, prisoner of his own desires.  
  
And yet, as the day goes on, and Geonhak’s time is consumed by meeting after meeting, his mind replays over and over again the way Seoho felt against him, the way his soft hair tickled his skin, how small his wrists were, and the burning fire within him at those words that were hotly whispered against his ear.  
  
He smiles more than usual, and frowns more too, or so does Youngjo tell him. But he doesn’t have the mind to care, face turning to every corner whenever he thinks he’s seen a patch of white, or the sight of sun coloured hair. But that hope inside of him always turns into bitter disappointment when he realizes his eyes have been deceiving him only. He wonders if part of him enjoys it by now, that sweet torture of seeing Seoho everywhere, when he really is nowhere.  
  
But he does eventually see Seoho, really does see him the next morning, his lean, white figure waiting for him in the middle of his training area. The general doesn't even have to question his eyes. Because the priest immediately looks over his shoulder gifting Geonhak with a sweet, playful smile that makes him shake to his very core. 

And it’s then that it hits him: Lee Seoho is as dangerous as he is beautiful, and Geonhak, who prides himself in the wars he's won, in a life of victories, has lost this battle the very first second he laid eyes on his face.

Geonhak never knew defeat could taste so sweet.


	3. I Want You (Deep in My Heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something violent about the way people act when they're driven by desire.
> 
> Seoho knows it all too well.
> 
> (Geonhak's mistake, if he says so himself, is not thinking Seoho desires him just as much, just as violently)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like 80% of this is Seoho's inner struggles with the concept of desire. But I guess important things do happen by the end for their relationship so maybe you'll wanna stick to the boring monologue just for that.
> 
> These two still don't have the most healthy relationship, so don't use them as an example of love in your personal life, I beg you.
> 
> Without further ado, I leave you, ladies and gentlemen (and gentlepeople in between those), with my mess, I hope you enjoy.

Lee Seoho has never been the most devoted priest. The eldests in the temple would always chastise him and even punish him for what they considered was a weak conexion to the Goddess and a shameful lack of commitment to his task.

They would leave him without dinner, make him take care of the sacred fire for nights on end, kneel down for hours until he cried, as if somehow pain, despair would humble him, show him how insignificant he was in the face of that which escaped his control. But instead, they only achieved a sense of pure hatred and resent to grow deep in Seoho’s heart.

What were supposed to be long nights of introspection and reflexion of the Goddess’ greatness, her generosity, her benevolence, turned instead into endless hours of planning, meticulously crafting impossible escape routes, plans after plans to find a way out that would not cost him his life.

Because just like his brothers and sisters, Seoho didn’t choose to become a priest. He was handpicked for his beauty and health when he was only a boy, ripped from his family’s willing arms when he was still of tender age- because honour was stronger than love- and then trained into obedience, faith, commitment. He was made into the perfect little image of sacredness.

His beauty was a gift, they would say, from the Goddess and for the Goddess only. He would have no other duty in life but serve her and the temple. His life, they said, also belonged to the temple. His body. Himself.

No one else would know how to appreciate them. The outside world was dangerous for divine creatures so delicate and sublime as they were. Even the ones with good intentions would end up, inevitably, harming them.

Desire was dangerous.

Desiring more, different- or worse, desiring someone- was a blatant sacrilege and Seoho was punished, yelled at, humiliated, until he was ‘free from it’.

Or so they thought.

Somehow, the odious Kim Geonhak, was right, and being here, trapped in a beautiful palace, is no different than being back in the temple. Perhaps a little lonely, without his brothers and sisters. But then again, he can’t say that he misses them much. Not after they left him in the temple alone without even a word of protest at the eldests’ decision, only guilty, cowardly goodbyes as they fled for their lives, leaving him to an uncertain destiny without looking back once.

Seoho’s somehow glad Geonhak keeps him in a gilded cage, afraid of facing his people as the only religious referent that’s left in the city. He’s afraid of being venerated, of seeing just how much is expected from him outside the palace, no matter how determined he is to be up to the task.

He finds comfort, then, in the closed doors, the tall walls, and the guards that follow him everywhere, the way they keep him in secrecy of the outside world, as if it didn’t exist. It’s new. Liberating. No tasks to do, no rituals to learn, no sacred books to read. No fire. Nothing.

Except Geonhak.

Geonhak, who plagues his mind, no matter how much he fights him.

Geonhak doesn’t regard him with the fear and disgust he's seen in many of his soldiers, warily expecting him to turn into a full form pagan demon at any moment, or as if he were a warlock of the dark arts. But he also doesn't look at him the way the servants and civilians would, as if he were a deity himself, the only ray of hope left in this rotten, ever-changing city.

The way Geonhak looks at him makes him feel that Geonhak is seeing…well, him. Seoho.

Not Seoho the pagan priest, or Seoho the beautiful temple keeper.

It’s just him.

And it’s terrifying.

Because Seoho’s losing their little game.

…

At first it was clear, it was easy. All Seoho had to do was have Geonhak eating by the palm of his hand before the other knew what was happening. It was far from a challenge for someone as clever as him, who had been blessed with otherworldly beauty to charm both men and women alike into the deep, bottomless well of desire.

And the general made it even easier still, as if eager to throw himself into it, uncaring of the consequences.

It made Seoho so very pleased, to see how responsive Geonhak was to his presence, the way he would so obviously follow him with his eyes, hands itching to reach out and touch, body visibly pliant at the mere sight of him.

Seoho soon realized Geonhak was more than just a man overtaken by lust. And the way he caressed him with his eyes was unlike anything the priest had ever experienced.

Eventually, Seoho somehow started enjoying it, despite all the voices in his head calling him a heathen for it. The rush of power he got by being able to turn such a powerful man- the very same man who had defeated his mighty city- into a little child eager to comply, yearning for attention, was all too satisfying. It didn't seem like a challenge anymore.

It made him forget what his goal was.

And so, at one point, when Seoho waits for Geonhak to show up for his training, he stops remembering why he’s doing it anymore.

What at first started as a mere way to catch Geonhak's attention, drive him mad with the desire to have him and not let him forget just how much he wanted him, ended up being his most awaited part of the day. Now, Seoho will eagerly rise before the sun is up, waiting in the cold morning, just for the general to show up.

Seoho is trapped in his own game of seduction, aware of it.

Because Seoho wants Geonhak for himself. He wants to possess Geonhak more than he wants his very own freedom. And he fights against it, day after day, night after night, pointlessly.

Kim Geonhak is his enemy, he hates him like he has hated no other, his mere existence makes his blood boil. So why is it that instead of anger he feels excitement when the General comes close, when he speaks, and laughs?

Nothing can distract him from it, give him an out. He practises rituals and chants to pass the time, even if he doesn't have to. He reads books, explores the castle as much as he can with the guards following him, and is somehow allowed to do gardening after a pretty smile and pouty lips directed at Geonhak.

But Seoho’s trapped in his own mind, nothing in the outside can touch him, way too immersed in his own desire and he thinks that maybe the eldests were right, and desire is nothing but harmful.

Is it a punishment? He wonders in those sleepless nights when he looks up at the moon and pretends it’s his fire, and that the Goddess can hear him. Are you punishing me with him for my lack of loyalty?

As usual, his questions remain unanswered.

And then he’s back where he started, waiting for Geonhak, eagerly expecting to cross him in the halls, happy to check through his windows and find him in there, training.

He’s just lonely, it’s just that, he’ll tell himself if he can’t stop thinking about all he felt when Geonhak touched him, held him in his arms as he struggled, liked the way his fists met resistance, to be so close to another’s body.

He wants that again. He wants more of it

But he refuses to be treated like a prize, like a thing to be possessed- even if he, himself, wishes to possess.

In those sleepless nights where the moon and stars are his only comfort, he starts to fantasize. Seoho fantasizes about slipping into Geonhaks room sometimes, while he sleeps at night and stab him with a dagger in the heart. At least that way, this torture will end.

And then, when all the rage in himself goes away and it leaves space for the burning fire of desire in him, he imagines himself actually waking Geonhak up with light touches instead, coaxing him to sit down with eager, roaming hands, and slide into his lap.

He wants to be touched, to be felt, explored. No. He needs it.

It's such an intense need that sometimes he has to shake his body just to snap out of it, before he does anything crazy.

He will walk around his room, sing himself a song, jump up and down and up and down until his body's exhausted, and it no longer has the energy to demand to be in Geonhak's arms, to eagerly guide him through the castle into his enemy's bed.

He ends up exhausted, and when the sun goes up, and Geonhak can see the darkness under his eyes he’ll frown, hand itching to touch, caress the skin.

“Why don’t you touch me?” Seoho asks one morning, infuriated after Geonhak spends all morning correcting his movements with the sword. Seoho still doesn’t understand why exactly is the General teaching his prisoner how to fight, but he isn’t sure he wants to know either, afraid of understanding just how deep the General’s affections run for him.

It’s beyond disturbing, and by the tenth time he’s touched with the wood of a stick when Geonhak marks his mistakes, corrects his posture, he begins feeling like a pariah, like he’s unwanted, disgusting. And he’s too tired, too confused to keep his defenses up. He makes the mistake of showing himself vulnerable in front of Geonhak. And once he starts, he can’t stop.

“Why would I?” The General asks, rolling the fabric of his sleeves up his arms until too much skin is exposed. He’s frowning, looking unbothered as per usual lately, when he tries to feign nonchalance. As if he still had some self-control when it came to the priest. It’s distracting. The pull that he feels inside himself, so raw and undeniable, it daunts him.

“Because you want to.”

It leaves the other speechless for a moment and Seoho takes it as a win, because Geonhak has the soul of a diplomat, despite being a soldier, a leader, and he always seems to have the right words until right now. But then he’s peering at him in that way that Seoho knows it means he’s being studied. Maybe he even pities him. And the priest loathes when he does that, looking at him like he’s somehow less than Geonhak because he’s never been touched.

“We have a deal, priest.” Geonhaks replies after a moment, and Seoho holds tighter onto his wooden sword.

“You broke it when you touched me that day.”

“Seoho…” Geonhak sighs, as if tired of this accusation already, even though it’s the very first time Seoho mentions the issue aloud.“You don’t trust me still, is that it?”

“I’ll never trust you.” I don’t trust myself, how could I trust someone like you then?

It takes a moment for Geonhak to reply, and before he does, he comes close, impossibly close, just millimeters away from him, as if he knew Seoho’s knees will give out at any moment, and he wants to be close to catch him when they do. He won’t let him fall to the ground and ruin those pretty legs of him because he’s weak, weak for him and always has been. It makes his eyes glassy, and he wants to step back, really does. But how can one move, pinned under the eyes of a man such as him?

“Are you scared that I will, or that I won’t?” He whispers, but it comes out as shaky, as if his insides trembled just as much as Seoho’s, as if he feared rejection more than he feared the consequences of actually going through with it.

“I’m not scared.” Seoho whispers back, gathering all the little courage he has in him still to sound as convincing as he can. He doesn’t want to give the General the pleasure of knowing just how affected he is.

He isn’t sure when this all started, their little inner game of pretending to be stronger than the other, inside Seoho’s bigger game of making Geonhak his own. But before, it was all about survival, all about control, about keeping the right to live his life as he wanted it. And now… now it’s about having him for himself. He wants him, oh how he wants him.

So when Geonhak lowers his eyes, swallows, and a gentle pressure curls on his wrist, above the slight fabric that covers it, he doesn’t budge, doesn’t breathe. He allows the other to bring it up, watches, helplessly as Geonhak exhales warmly against his palm and then leans in, presses his lips against his clothed inner wrist, inciting a private, violent heat in the bottom of his stomach that makes him gasp, tug his hand free.

“Seoho.”

“No.” The priest shakes his head, upset, looking away. He wants to go, wants to leave-

“Please- I’m sorry, I would never-”

“Never what?” Seoho snaps, tired of seeing Geonhak pleading so earnestly to him, when the priest as much as shows annoyance, as if Seoho owned him. Because he doesn’t. Geonhak isn’t his. Because that means he’s won, and if he’s won, how come it feels like he’s hit rock bottom, like he just fell, defeated to his knees just like his city did, to this man who can’t even touch him right?

“I would never hurt you.”

The words make him swallow, and he holds onto that pathetic wooden sword, as if that could do anything to help him now.

“You just did.”

Geonhak’s confusion turns into understanding soon enough, and Seoho doesn’t like the way he’s being read, refuses to believe he’s reached the point of vulnerability where this man can simply read him with a look.

“I kissed your sleeve. Did that hurt?”

“Yes.” Seoho replies, sounding annoyed, way less convinced, lost.

“And when I held you the other day, did that hurt too? When you played me like you did?” Geonhak asks, one step closer, and then another, until they’re close again. Seoho doesn’t know why he allows it, but he does and there’s that heat again, making his head fuzzy, not at all in control like he had that time, when he was delighted to have Geonhak under his control, moving his feelings around like a puppet to play with.

“Yes.” Seoho lets out, shakily. And it’s like Geonhak is staring into his very soul, like he knows what he means when he says hurt, like he’s admitting out in the open, for everyone to hear, please, it hurts, because I want more, and I shouldn’t and I hate you for it. I hate you for doing this to me, for making me feel all of this.

And Geonhak understands, can see right through him, because he doesn’t try to touch him anymore, and instead, he smiles and says “Then hurt me back.”

It’s so very simple, so obvious, but it turns Seoho’s world upside down. Because years and years he’s been told he couldn’t be touched, years and years trapped in this body of his that can’t receive and yet, he never thought about the fact that he can touch instead. Such a simple desire that didn’t even cross his head because maybe, parts of him haven’t yet healed from being raised in a place like the temple, where wanting was a sin.

He lets out a shaky breath, and the little wooden sword falls, its impact against the ground resounding all around them. But Seoho can’t hear a thing, mesmerized as Geonhak waits, patiently, expectant, to see what Seoho will do next.

It takes the priest a moment to get rid of all his inhibitions, all the hate he feels for wanting to do this, but he finally raises his hand, slowly, and presses his palm right above where Geonhak’s heart is supposed to be. He can feel it, his heart, racing, alarmingly so, but the General is the very imagine of poise and self-control, as he looks right into Seoho’s eyes, doesn’t say nor does a thing.

Encouraged by Geonhak’s well concealed emotions, he raises his other hand along the first, slowly dragging it up the middle of his body, firm, pliant, very much alive,until he reaches his neck, the wetness of his skin. It’s warm.

It’s like he’s discovering another being for the very first time, like he’s never known true otherness up until now, and he’s shaken to his very core, skin tingling pleasantly with such a tight knot in his chest he can barely breathe. But he wants more, wants to discover and get to know every little detail of Geonhak’s body, know it better than he knows his, touch it, claim it, mark it, it can belong to no other.

“Does it hurt?” Seoho whispers, looking up from his hands and right into the face of the most handsome man he’s ever seen. The first man he's ever wanted.

“Yes.” Geonhak smiles, such a genuine, sweet smile, like he can hear his thoughts. “Everywhere.”

And Seoho smiles back, letting himself relax for the very first time ever since he was taken from the temple.

He allows these disturbing pleasures to take over him, knowing Geonhak feels them too. He can’t help but feel as though there’s a connexion between them now. As if now that he’s touching Geonhak’s bare skin, a little bit of the the other belongs to him now, and a little bit of himself is given in return. It doesn’t bother the priest, and maybe it should. But why would he care when Geonhak breathes under his hands, and stays there obediently for Seoho to do as he wishes?

Seoho swallows and lets his hands roam up the other’s shoulders, down his arms until he touches the other’s skin again, his forearms. They’re heated. Geonhak radiates heat and warmth, Seoho can feel it even through the fabric of his shirt.

The general is gentle when he moves, turning his hands, palms up and hovering in the air, like an offer. A peace offer. And the priest takes it, allowing his hands to rest against the other’s. And it feels like Geonhak is finally touching him back, like he finally has what he’s been yearning for and can’t deny it anymore.

“Does it hurt now?” Geonhak whispers, close to his ear, like a secret, as Seoho watches the way Geonhak cheats and caresses the side of his hand with his thumb.

“No.”

Seoho has always been trapped, in the temple, in this palace, in his body, in his mind.

Touching Geonhak feels like tasting freedom for the first time.

.


	4. You'll Turn Up The Light (In My Dark Life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seoho doesn't like meaningless touches. So Geonhak makes sure all his touches are filled with overflowing meaning, much like his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear reader, a couple of things before you begin reading my mess:  
> As always their relationship isn't ideal.  
> Keep in mind that this happens some time after the last chapter!  
> Also there are mentions of death?

.  
  
  
  
  


There are times in which Seoho closes his eyes and pretends his body doesn’t belong to him. He is merely a visitor in this tender flesh that hugs around him, not quite like a prison, no. When Seoho closes his eyes, he believes the gentleness of it to be more like a comforting blanket. He’s only surrounded by a cloud of warmness that protects him from the cold, unruffled world with overly zealous dedication.  
  
Seoho believes himself to be just a guest, or an invader, living this life on borrowed time. He’s been graciously given this beautiful body, in this beautiful palace for a day, perhaps a little more, if he’s lucky. Because this body, this life, they don’t belong to him. And once he opens his eyes he’ll realize, with heart-wrenching disappointment, that all has banished away to nothing.  
  
Perhaps he’ll wake up to be in the body of one of the poor souls that work away their lives on lands that do not belong to them, wet, dripping hay above him as his only roof. Or perhaps, he’ll open his eyes to red in battle, the sound of metal and the yells of men as they drag them away, half dead to safety. Or he might awake to the warmth of flames licking at his skin, back inside the walls of the temple, a mere caretaker of the sacred fire, all this product of his wishful thinking of a life away from that imposed duty. But he’d much rather think of himself close to death than back to his old life. Maybe he truly is dying, and all of this has been conjured by his fading mind, clinging desperately to life.  
  
If someone assured him such is the case, Seoho would believe it in a heartbeat. The craziness of it doesn’t clash with how he perceives his reality lately. After all, nowadays, he lives life with the detachment only faded memories of dreams carry.

If such was, indeed, the case, Seoho thinks he wouldn’t mind that much. He’s never been afraid of the darkness the idea of death carries. He’s never been one to embrace it, though, but he thinks that one day he will unavoidably have to, so it might as well be today, if that’s what fate has decided for him.   
  
He’d go without regrets, he tells himself, but his heart will flip in protest, and the image of Geonhak will appear in his mind, so perfect and clear he might as well have him in front of him, extend his hand and touch him, feel the warmth of his skin, breathe in the scent of him. 

Once again, Geonhak is the centre of all of his frustrations.  
  
So Seoho will close his eyes once more, and fantasize with lives way beyond his grasp, only tangible in daydreams. But he'll give up quickly afterwards. It doesn’t really matter, after all. Not when regardless of how many times he closes his eyes and opens them up again with earnest will, he still wakes up in his body, cladded in his white robes, surrounded by the mighty walls of a palace that’s too grandiose for simple men to take it all in, and the vigilant eyes of Kim Geonhak on him. 

Seoho doesn’t look away from the horizon, his hands resting on the marble of the balcony, the expanse of the city under him as if it was but a painting laid down for his eyes to feast upon it. People are only moving dots in the labyrinth of streets and little houses, that end only at the beginning of the great wall. It's a wall that once represented the only hope at protection, a symbol of power, and is now only but a painful reminder of failure and defeat. The priest decides to ignore the sounds of Geonhak’s segmented army marching down the streets, making sure to crush any possible rebellion, controlling the citizens, ensuring only their faith is practiced.

From up there, Seoho can properly spot his temple. He hasn’t laid foot on it once after all this time, even if Geonhak offered to take him more than once. It looks unreal, so far away, and blurry from the distance, like a mirage in the desert. But that’s how Seoho can tell it’s real, that it’s there. If he was thrown in the desert, delirious with thirst, the temple would be the last thing he would yearn for in need of salvation.

Because the temple is anything but.  
  
His goddess, if she’s still there, may strike him down if she so wishes for disrespecting her sacred place. But Seoho doesn’t believe such a benevolent being would offer her protection to a place like the temple, filled with rotten, ill-intentioned men. If anything, she would strike _them_ down. In fact, Seoho thinks maybe Geonhak and his army are her punishment, for the temple and the city, for their hoarding and ambition, for their selfishness, for their cruelness to one another.  
  
Yes, Geonhak is her punishment. But for Seoho, for him, it might be a reward.  
  
“So?” Seoho breaks their silence when he realizes the General doesn’t plan on doing so anytime soon, content to just observe him after a long day of duties and meetings. “What did they say?”  
  
“That I should execute you publicly. Or baptiste you for everyone to see and then marry you.” Geonhak replies easily, unable to lie as is part of his nature, and finally walking outside to the balcony without disturbing his personal space. Seoho wishes he would, so he could be mad at him for once.  
  
“Were those suggestions, or ultimatums?” Seoho asks, not letting the words affect him- he’s heard them more than once after all-, an art he has somehow mastered along the way of controlling his undeniable lust for Geonhak. It's easy when the words don’t hold a real threat.

The uprisings have gotten worse and worse and they both know killing him would do more damage than good, stirring rage amongst the people. Not that Geonhak would ever let anyone lay a single finger on him, regardless, with the way his eyes caress him as if he was the most precious being in his world. Marriage, on the other side, is a delicate option at worst. Seoho can’t deny he has fantasized about the idea of it once or twice. At night perhaps, he might think what it would be like to quit his goddess and marry this man, to yield to his lust, to Geonhak. Because with him stability would come, security, protection, and loneliness would be gone. But then he’d have to live his life as the disloyal traitor that betrayed his faith for power. He'd have to deal with the burden of dishonour and shame upon his name. The repercussions of the people scare him, but most of all, he fears his lack of faith towards a goddess that has never replied a single one of his prayers. 

“They’re just advisors. Ambassadors. They cannot tell me what to do.”  
  
“Ah, yes, the mighty General Geonhak, above us all, mere subjects of his majesty’s wishes.” Seoho mumbles, fixing his eyes on the market close by, the way some stalls gather more attention than others. He wonders what they sell. Food most likely, or maybe the finest fabrics, gleaming so beautifully, so very soft to the touch even the least wealthy inhabitants of the impoverished city gather around it, if only for a glimpse of beauty amongst this chaos.

He wonders what they’d do if that were he instead. He's afraid to know.  
  
Geonhak avoids confrontation like the plague, and so, he ignores his little jab in favor for approaching him further. Seoho wonders why is it that he scurries away from conflict so dutifully. He thinks that it’s maybe a common trait shared by those who’ve seen the consequences of battles with their own eyes, way too many times, and have earned the wisdom to know how to choose them.  
  
“You disappeared again this morning.” Geonhak comments instead, as if absent mindedly. But Seoho knows him all too well to know that Geonhak thinks carefully before choosing each of his words- unless properly provoked.  
  
“Well, you weren’t around so I had to entertain myself somehow. I’m surprised you even noticed.” Seoho replies with the petulance of a child, way too tired to keep a facade of mystery when he knows for a fact that Geonhak is harmless to him and that nothing he does will make him relinquish his control of the city. Seoho has somehow resigned himself to a life close to this man, and the more Geonhak shows his protective side, the less he finds it a burden, and the more curious he is to see what awaits him- or them.  
  
“Is that why you’ve been tormenting the guards and servants? Make them look for you all morning? For _entertainment_?” Geonhak asks, a little cockiness seeping in his voice, as if Seoho hadn’t made it clear already that he doesn’t dislike his company. More than once.  
  
Seoho shrugs, and when he feels Geonhak even closer to him -probably annoyed that Seoho won’t even grace him with a look- he sticks himself to the balustrade to put some distance between them. He may have developed certain trust for Geonhak -despite claiming that he would never- but that doesn’t mean he'll let it be known.   
  
“Where were you, priest?” The general asks, as if he hadn’t long ago dropped the hidden disdain in that little word in favour for pure, utter fondness. _Priest_. It’s like his own, personal word for him, filled with so much endearment it always hits him deeper than if he were to call him for his own name, a rare occurrence. “Found another hidden passage?”  
  
The question has concealed mocking undertones to it that Seoho chooses to ignore for personal, amusement purposes. “Yes.” He answers, above his shoulder this time so he can make the outline of Geonhak's body for a single moment. Because he speaks the truth.  
  
He finds comfort in the fact that he means what he says, even though it reaches deafened ears. He wishes to be truthful around Geonhak, for reasons he can’t understand. He knows the General doesn’t believe him when he tells him of his little adventures in the clandestine passages of the palace, mind too clouded with delusions of presumed pagan magic. Seoho wishes he could tell him all about them, how scary and exhilarating it is to navigate them in torchlight, how his room is connected to tons of others, he started mapping them in paper just the other day- that perhaps, just perhaps, he’ll find a direct exit- but then he remembers Geonhak isn’t his friend, nor his confidant, that they still can’t trust each other no matter how much they might want to.

It used to hurt, not that long ago, but his heart is at peace that he knows the truth and that Geonhak will treat him with gentleness, no matter what he thinks of him.  
  
“You can’t keep doing that.”

"Do what?" 

"Disappear without a single explanation to do as you wish." _  
__  
_“I came back, didn’t I?” Seoho replies, anger subdued by the reminder that if he was up to Geonhak he’d let him do as he wishes. “What does it matter what I do, as long as I come back?”  
  
“You know it does matter.” The General says, sternly, leaving no room for argument. Not that Seoho would argue. Because he understands. They’re not the only ones living in the palace, halls filled with people who watch and speak, truths or otherwise, things that might make the people surrounding Geonhak think him incapable, weak, unfit to be a ruler, just because a pretty priest refuses to do what he’s told. Weeks ago, he’d feel powerful, mighty over this. Nowadays, that reminder feels like a heavy burden that weighs him down every time he steps outside his room.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance.”  
  
“You had too much value for that. You still do.” Geonhak’s soft voice coming from way too close behind him is like a soft, soothing caress, and it soon coaxes him into ignoring the weight of his guilt.  
  
“And yet you keep me in here, locked away from the people. What was it he said? One of your captains- ah yes. That I am a weapon for obedience. Is that so, Geonhak? Yet no matter all the times there have been uprisings you haven’t paraded me around, you haven’t sent me out there to tell them the goddess demands obedience, that she has decided to forsake them- or worse yet, that there’s no goddess, that the priests and priestesses told them nothing but lies. Why is that? Or is it that you have other plans for me?”  
  
It takes a moment, but finally there’s a movement behind him and he feels, like a soft breeze, Geonhak’s fingertip running down the spine of his back, making him gasp softly, audible only to himself.  
  
“Maybe I just know it’s pointless to force you to do something you do not want.” Geonhak whispers, close to his ear, his breath tickling on his nape sending waves of warmth down his arms and chest. “And I see the fear in your eyes when I as much as mention you facing the people.”  
  
The priest feels the cold shock of the other’s discovery and tries to turn around, but Geonhak’s too fast, and Seoho finds himself trapped between two strong arms on each side of him.  
  
“No. Look down. Look at them. Think you can face them?” Geonhak asks, his deep voice gentle yet firm, as if daring him to reply.  
  
It’s not the first time this has happened. Geonhak enjoys this. Overpowering him with the subtlety of a predator stalking a prey, who’s unaware of the bloody fate that awaits them until it’s too late to run away.   
  
Geonhak particularly enjoys surprising Seoho in his balcony, the mighty view of the city spread under them as if they owned it. He enjoys walking up to him, press the entirety of his chest to Seoho's back, until the weight of his body makes the priest hold onto the marble tightly, pressing back defiantly. 

And it’s like he’s saying, _do you see this? All of this. It could be yours. Whatever it is you want, I'll give it to you. I'll do it for you._ Geonhak would whisper right against his ear if he dared to, and then smirk once he's made him shiver. _All you need to do is ask._ _  
_  
When that happens, Seoho will remain silent, stubbornly wait until Geonhak grows bored and leaves him be. Then perhaps feel offended about being left alone and seek out Geonhak himself so that he can discuss the latest book he's read, or inform him of the current movements of the stars.

It's a new thing for them. And Seoho doesn't mine it at all after much deliberation on his part. In fact, he finds it bothersome that Geonhak rarely ever touches his skin, only through fabric, as if a sad little attempt at maintaining some sort of distance between them, when the both of them know it’s futile, and that it’s about time Geonhak lets go of promises that hold no meaning anymore.  
  
But today, this time is different. There’s something about the heaviness of Geonhak’s body on his back that feels persistent, as if unyielding to Seoho’s little defiance. And Seoho thinks that maybe this is it, perhaps this is the day Geonhak will grow bold instead of bored, and do something that will change things forever.  
  
Time passes and Seoho still can’t reply, in trance, the overpowering heat from Geonhak’s bigger body pressing against him making his head swim in pleasure for a moment, before the anxious knots in his stomach can make him tense up and overcome his curiosity. He wishes to say that no _,_ that he can’t face the people, but he’s scared to be perceived as weak - weaker than Geonhak already thinks him. He wants to say _no, I can’t face them, I’m terrified, and I know, I know you’re protecting me, but I’m going crazy inside and I feel useless, I want to help you. And I wish that I didn’t, should you not be my enemy? But you aren’t because I want you and you keep me in here, like a useless, pretty bird in a gilded cage._  
  
“What else are you to do with me?” Seoho asks, because uncertainty is eating him alive, even if he lives his life as if it wasn’t his at all.

The heavy sigh that Geonhak lets out makes his arms give in a little, trapped further into this sort of embrace that starts feeling less like a trap and more like a choice. 

"Killing you is pointless, it would bring me more problems than solutions and if I put you out there and make you talk, I might give them hope and incite them to fight in your name. And you cannot be baptized unless you choose to. So what should I do with you, then?”

Seoho can hardly swallow, can hardly even think.  
  
“I doubt you’d want to marry a pagan.”  
  
“I think I’ve made my intentions clear from the moment I first met you, Lee Seoho, keeper of the Eternal Flame.”   
  
A ceaseless buzz of energy makes its way to Seoho’s veins as he understands the earth shattering truth that comes from Geonhak’s lips. The priest barely feels it when the General slightly slides his hand on the marble and rests it on his, covers it completely with a softness much unlike the roughness of his palm.   
  
It irks him, the way such a simple thing unsettles him so, overheated in a way he was used to feeling only in the hottest afternoons as he stayed by the fire, no matter how much he prayed he didn’t have to.  
  
It’s odd, the way Seoho can only withstand from Geonhak the firmest of touches, more than he does the softest, fleeting ones. Because the way he grabs him is heat, it’s passion, it’s fire spreading through his veins, burning under his skin. And Seoho’s all too familiar with fire.  
  
But softness…softness is like air, slight, unpredictable, swift and barely there, satisfying while yearning for more, overwhelming and never enough.  
  
So Seoho tugs his hand away and dares, with the courage of a man facing his destiny, to turn around in Geonhak’s arms and finally look at him in the eyes. They’re such piercing eyes, as if he could look right through his mask of resilience and watch the way he’s crumbling by mere touches.  
  
“Then? Why haven’t you just taken me already?” Seoho whispers, looking up at him while a torrent of uncontrolled passions runs wild inside of him.

The lust in Geonhak's eyes seems to morph into something tender, a fondness that overtakes him all of a sudden along with his words. 

Seoho hands are trembling when Geonhak finally looks away to grab them with gentleness, kissing each palm while Seoho watches each single movement, feels each single inch of skin touched, kissed, adored, like fire, like air, like everything mixed together as he struggles to make sense of what he feels. Geonhak is always so very gentle, staying chaste even when his eyes promise more, always more. 

"Some things are better when given" he says, as he slowly lets go of Seoho’s hands and walks away, leaving Seoho alone to get himself back together, each little piece that has melted away to Geonhak’s presence, to his words and touches. And Seoho hates him for it, for burning him up only to leave him cold and confused, yet again.  
  
 _Some things are better when given_ , he says, yet all Geonhak does is take and take, and take.   
  
  
  
  
.


	5. You Open (The Firmly Closed Door)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It feels like we’re alone in the world.” He lets it slip, before he can think about it and surprisingly doesn't regret it, with the way he spots Geonhak glancing at him curiously.
> 
> “What would you do if you had that kind of freedom? If it was just us, no one left in the land but you and me?”
> 
> "Kiss you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This au is gonna be my ruin.
> 
> Warnings for wine, mentions of death and hypothetical sexual situations I guess? It's just fantasies that aren't described at all. Also huge warning for my inability to make ONE parragraph non-dramatic.

.

There are days in which Seoho forgets he’s nothing more than a glorified prisoner in the castle of a man who worships every inch of his being as if he was a gift from heaven itself. They’re days that come and go unnoticed, and settle into Seoho’s heart almost as if by accident- and not because he holds onto them, like a treasure.  
  
He’s so sheltered, it’s easy to forget there’s a world beyond the tall walls, and the endless gardens that turn a little more beautiful each day- every time Geonhak indulgently allows yet another fountain to be filled, just for Seoho to be able to lie next to them, close his eyes and pretend as though he was next to a river, alone in a forest and far away from everything.  
  
Days without Geonhak are usually the dullest, and with the sweet heat and bluest skies of the season, Seoho refuses to spend them anywhere but outside- even though sometimes his little secret passages are cooler than any fresh shade he can find. Hours pass, he never knows just how much time he’s there, reading or playing one of the instruments. Instruments he found abandoned by the previous owners, who probably fled for their lives cowardly the day Geonhak’s army finally broke down one of the walls. There are a lot of forgotten treasures hidden well within the rooms of the castle, and Seoho finds the utmost pleasure in a daily quest for them. He’s found books, clothing, funny little artifacts whose mysterious purposes evade him, too caught up in his own pride to go to any servant- much less Geonhak- and ask about them. Seoho’s even found jewels too, the ones who were well hidden behind paintings or under loose slabs on the floor. He thinks that maybe they were left forgotten in the rush, for it’s otherwise inexplicable how such riches were left discarded as if without worth. Or perhaps they were left in the childish hope that one day they'd be back for them.

Seoho rather likes objects. Back in the temple his possessions were scarce and merely related to his daily needs. And although there isn't a thirst for riches in him, he understands the appeal of golden coins and precious stones, of jewels. Sometimes Seoho takes them, puts them on and pretends like this all belongs to him, like the gold and silver decorating his skin makes him the lord and master of everything that surrounds him, and beyond. Some other days, though, he feels sick of his greed- or the intricate ideas of escaping along with them to start a life anew- so he leaves them be. Though not without remembering -with shocking precision- their exact location.   
  
But Seoho’s wary. He refuses to let himself be taken by the overwhelmingly seductive pull of freedom. Except- is it really freedom, if he’ll lack money, food, shelter? Is any man really free if they're starving or begging in the streets? He knows it’s never as easy as it sounds. After all, he’s lived a life of comfort, and leaving it all behind- leaving Geonhak’s protection, sounds as tempting as it does terrifying.  
  
Days without Geonhak are more recurring that Seoho would like- the fact that he notices his absence also happens more often that he would like. Seoho blames him for it, most of the times. Others, he blames himself. After all It was him the one who promptly stopped meeting him in the training grounds one morning. He offered no explanation whatsoever- and Geonhak didn’t ask for one. Up until now, Seoho wishes he had, so he could look at him in the eyes and finally admit defeat- _I’m losing my head, my soul to you._ Seoho would say. _If I give you my body too, then everything is over._ And then he’d finally, finally explain. _I cannot see you anymore, don’t you understand? I cannot bear when you touch me, when you watch my every move as you correct my posture because all I wanna do is drop my sad, pathetic little wooden shield and throw myself in your arms._

Seoho spends those sleepless dawns watching the sunrise instead, or finding his way towards the altar. _His_ altar. A ravaged little room that probably used to be magnificent back in earlier, simple times. Seoho spends his time caressing the broken wood and tracing the shredded paintings by candlelight, until the sun shining through the windows flood the space with unavoidable light. Light that is honest and truthful, and open Seoho's eyes to the realness of the wreckage that surrounds him. And then it’s not as pretty, nor as peaceful anymore. Not when he can clearly see the ruins that Geonhak's men left in their haste to crush, to conquer and possess everything in their path.

And yet Seoho sits there, regardless, stares at the devastated sight, the broken statue of a Goddess whose presence has been a constant in his life, up until this point. 

Seoho should hate Geonhak. He should despise him, hold such hatred in his heart that it could burst from it with just a glimpse from him. But no matter how much he may wish to hate, the resentment he harbors is weak, powerless in its little petty rage that resembles more the tantrum of a child than the determination of a man ready to risk it all in order to right a wrong of divine proportions. So he doesn’t delve into it- much- and simply accepts the brief reprieve he’s been given in life.  
  
Days without Geonhak may be dull, but they are as dull as they are peaceful. And despite coming from a temple, Seoho rarely knew peace- much less leisure. There was always something to do- rituals, worshipping, guarding the fire, charity, prayer- Seoho can count with his hands the days he was given freedom to use his time as he wished. And now, it feels as though he were using all of this free time he was never offered before just to do nothing. Nothing, nothing and more nothing. And Seoho feels peace for once in his life, peace despite the neverending cascade of worries pushed in the back of his head, peace that is only ever disturbed by Geonhak’s presence- and his not presence.  
  
But today isn’t one of those days. For today is one of those rare days where Geonhak seems to have been given a break from his endless stream of duties. And he’s very much there, observing him high from a balcony as Seoho pretends as though he isn’t there. He pretends as though just by imagining his ever loyal eyes on him his whole being doesn’t ignite with a suffocating heat that never puts out unless he’s approached, spoken to, touched. Sometimes the heat goes away when he gets too near, an icy coldness running through his body that makes him repel. Others, it simply disappears, as thirst goes away when one drinks plenty. But the times Seoho really does dread are the times in which the heat doesn’t douse, but grows stronger instead. He feels so utterly consumed, submerged in a depth of desire he can never find the surface to, and it drives him almost mad with delirious, impulsive fantasies that he’s scared he’ll fulfill.  
  
Because on days like today, where Seoho’s being ravished by Geonhak’s eyes alone, he can’t respond for himself at all. It’s even worse now, with the safety of their distance. He feels at ease, encouraged by the lack of immediate consequences. So Seoho allows himself to fantasize. He thinks about what it’d be like to slowly roll his clothing up his legs, and sink them on the fountain, just for Geonhak to see, gauge his reaction. And if he got no reaction, he’d sink entirely, clothes and all so they’d hug his body so well- the see-through fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. And then, Seoho would walk towards the open doors of the main hall, all while staring back at Geonhak’s boiling, irritated expression of pure fury and desire with as much defiance as he did the very first time they met. And he’d go on, he’d parade himself dripping wet and almost bare all over the castle, for everyone to see, if just to get his attention, stir in Geonhak that primal hunger Seoho’s seen at his weakest moments and that he’s committed to preserve, forever.  
  
What would Geonhak do, he wonders. Would he yell? Strike him? No. Geonhak could never. He’d Ignore him, at worst, until Seoho goes mad with the need for him. But knowing of his sweet nature when it comes to him, Geonhak would maybe drape a towel over his shoulders, and lock him in his room for the day, all while swallowing each and every of his frustrations. Or maybe, just maybe -and this is what makes Seoho’s breath hitch as he loses himself in impossible fantasies-, Geonhak would finally crack.

Seho would finally break him.

He imagines how it’d be: harsh, unapologetic, veracious. In an ardent whirl of rage and desire, he’d drag him into the privacy of his room and strip him roughly, call him all sorts of names that would have Seoho snapping back with some of his own- Geonhak would ask him _why, why do you play with me like this? What is it you want from me?_ as he’d touch him all over, make him tremble under the fervor of his hands- his nakedness. _You. I want you. Can’t you see how I want you?_ Seoho would reply before sinking into his arms and kiss him with abandon, forsaking his past, and everything he’s meant to be. 

But in the end, he does none of that.  
  
Because prudence is, above all, Seoho’s preeminent light in his mostly dark path towards survival. Whether it’s surviving the world, Geonhak, or himself, he doesn’t know yet.  
  
  
...  
  
  
"What is this?" Seoho asks when his room is suddenly invaded by Geonhak and a pair of servants, who lay down plates of fruits and delicious looking wine on the table and promptly take their leave. None of them dare raise their eyes to look at them, even though they’ve gotten used to Seoho's presence already. He's beyond thankful that they don’t worship him like a god anymore- nor fear him like one. It's rare for him to find servants that dare to as much as look at his face, and it saddens him that they won't now. He thinks it’s due to Geonhak’s presence, who commands compliance and deference with his vicinity alone. 

"We're celebrating." Geonhak announces, hides his smile up until the doors close, and they’re left alone.

The faint clicking of the doors falling in place sends a shiver down his spine, as he pretends disdain for whatever it is happening.

"Celebrating?”  
  
Geonhak’s eyes travel from his face down the curve of his neck, his rather exposed collarbones. He revels in the way his broad, strong shoulders morph into an irresistible slim waist, the way he curves slightly, giving way to the width of his hips, how his thighs arches his robe ever so slightly, and then all the way down his bare feet. Then, Geonhak seems to snap out of it, rolling his shoulders back before he walks up to the table. His handsomeness is a sight to behold. 

He's almost coy in the way he moves, dressed fairly simple too, much unlike his usual military garments. It allows Seoho to appreciate the general’s body all the better, and for a moment, he pretends his roles are reversed. It is him the one who, with an army, has conquered this mighty city, and Geonhak with it. Geonhak's the priest, his priest, and he's oh so beautiful, the only thing that is missing from his otherwise perfect, full life. And he wants him, oh how he wants him all to himself, no matter the consequences. 

"We've just secured a deal.” Geonhak says as he studies the plates, then his eyes go back to him and forces him to come back to reality. “It’s an agreement of sorts, and involves the most influential families in this city. Even the ones who left were willing to agree to our terms in order to go back to the trade routes, anything so long we allow them access to their business here.” A pause. “Do you know what that means, priest?” 

Seoho shakes his head, far from well versed in the art of politics beyond that which involves him. 

"It means-" The General says, and it’s like he’s unable to hide just how pleased he is, smirk in place while he pours a glass of wine with an elegance he didn't know Geonhak could ever possess "That if God continues to favour us, there'll be no need to involve you any further." 

"Whatever do you mean?" Seoho asks, frozen in his place as the other walks closer and closer still. He accepts the cup he’s offered, and as he stares at the gentle way the general hands him the almost blood red drink, a soft realization makes his lips part slightly. Oh, no. _Geonhak_ , _are you doing all this for me?_

"Oh, priest." The General, who has the kind of smile that irradiates a happiness that cannot be hidden with false disdain, sighs. He lets the back of his hand slowly, painstakingly so, caress the side of his face. It’s a new kind of touch that has him almost recoiling. _Almost_ , because it feels too pleasant to. It’s a caress that’s given so very naturally, with a gentleness that quiets his inner turmoil. So Seoho allows the warm wave of relief that washes over him, while he looks at Geonhak with eyes filled with ruthless apathy. "People do not care for a goddess that won't feed them, my love. But with my god we bring food, we bring health, we bring order- you see now?" Caressing him again, utterly uncaring of those old times where such simple touches were forbidden. And still are, despite their determination to transgress over and over and over again."There'll be no need for coercion once they see what I can offer. Just like there was no need for it with you."

Seoho lets out a little shuddering exhale and takes a step back, away from his reach, watching the way Geonhak’s hand falls, slowly in place. He does not like the implication of the other’s words, the fact that Geonhak seems so certain that he has won him over already- or at least, his obedience. And as he drowns his cup in one go, grimaces at the taste and makes a show out of ignoring Geonhak’s surprise, he feels himself forced to remind the other- no, to remind them _both_ that their little game isn’t over. And Geonhak has not won him. 

"You may need it if you keep saying things like those, General. You may wish to be mindful about your words." Seoho speaks, raising his voice just so that he can be heard loud and clear. 

There's a moment of recognition in Geonhak's eyes. They're the eyes of a man whose mind has been momentarily clouded by the lust of power, and Seoho doesn't like to see them on him. 

"I shall, then." He replies solemnly and then shakes his head distractedly. "But come now, let us celebrate" Geonhak announces as if nothing had happened, but there’s something somber in his eyes. Something Seoho can’t quite decipher.

It soothes him to be listened to, and for now, he pushes his discomfort away, knowing Geonhak is far from trying to assert any power over him. Not now. Not after all this time. 

He doesn’t follow the General to the table, however, and instead sprawls himself all over the rug near the balcony, cushions spread all around him and underneath him as he stretches back onto them silently, aware of the heavy stare that caresses him ever so longing. It happens to be Seoho’s most favourite place in the world, lately. From there, all he has to do is tilt his head back slightly to watch the endless expanse of the sky. He could spend hours just laying there, watching the clouds through the open balcony and, as air breezes through, imagine that he’s actually lying on a cloud, flying near the house of the gods.

Today is a beautiful day, and with the outside doors pushed wide open, it makes Seoho feel as though they might as well be outside.  
  
“It feels like we’re alone in the world.” Seoho lets it slip mindlessly and surprisingly doesn't regret it, with the way he spots Geonhak glancing at him curiously. “What would you do if you had that kind of freedom? If it was just us, no one left in the land but you and me?”  
 _  
_ _"_ Kiss you." Geonhak replies as though there was no other answer to such question. None at all. It knocks the air out of him and makes him feel as though he isn't quite in his body, anymore. "And you?" _  
  
_“Leave you.” Seoho says instead of the truth that threatens to slide through his lips and revels, sickly, in the way Geonhak holds his cup tighter, unable to hold his displeasure.

Seoho's saved, albeit for now. 

“What are you to do with me, once this is all over, and you have no use for me anymore?” Seoho asks, lying on his side and propping his head up with a hand, elbow on a cushion. He accepts a second glass of wine, already feeling the pleasant hum under his skin at the first.

“Enjoy your company. Properly.” Geonhak seems playful, now that he's secured certain stability for the city, now that he doesn’t have the looming burden of everything falling apart if he isn’t there to fix it. He lets himself fall on the rug with a plate of fruit and leans back on the biggest cushions. 

Seoho's room is filled with the most exotic of decorations- that he’s sure belonged to an ambassador of sorts. These colourful cushions are probably his favourite of all the deliciously intricate objects in his room.   
  
“Do you not enjoy it, now?” Seoho mumbles, eyes purposely heady as he looks at Geonhak. He allows the pleasing warmth in his body to morph into full vivid ardor, lets his lust flush his cheeks as he traces the rim of his cup with a finger. Because Seoho is no fool, and was blessed with a cunning instinct, one that whispers into his ear and instructs him with exactly what to do and what to say to be utterly, undeniably irresistible in the eyes of another’s. He’s frankly charming, beyond his beauty alone, and he is not one to waste his talents.

“You test me, I see.” Geonhak exhales, chuckling to himself as he takes another cautious sip of his cup. He can’t seem to take his eyes off the priest, as if there was nothing in the room, but him, and Seoho wonders, does he even want to? Does he try, at least? "I enjoy your company, truly."   
  
There’s a moment of silence, a moment where they just look at each other like they do oh so often. And yet there’s something different about it this time. May it be, perhaps, the wine that clouds his head- or the intimacy of allowing Geonhak to share with him his favourite spot. Or perhaps something has simply shifted between them, like the string from which they’ve been pulling and tugging for weeks now has frayed irremediably, and there’s one tug left before it finally, finally breaks. Seoho feels giddy at the mere idea of it. And unspeakably terrified.   
  
He breaks their excruciating eye contact the second he feels control slip away from him. Seoho reaches for the fruits, in an attempt to distract himself with something, anything at all, but Geonhak beats him it it and moves the plate away from his reach. 

" _Ah, ah, ah_." He chastises him with a mischievous glow that was unknown to him so far. It makes Seoho’s mouth go dry, his heart stuttering in his chest for a moment. "If you want something, you should ask." 

"Are you trying to make me beg?" He asks, and he thanks every goddess and god he knows when his voice comes out composed, sultry even, as if he was in complete control of himself.Unaffected. it's an artful discipline, that of hiding one's true self and Seoho should be a master of it by now. He would be, in fact, were it not for Kim Geonhak. 

"My priest, I've long accepted I cannot _make you_ do anything."

"Feed me, then." Seoho demands with a blatant air of superiority. It’s a subdued way of treating him as though he was beneath him, and it sends a surge of confidence running through his body. Seoho stretches the arm that holds his head up on the rug and rests his cheek on it, studying Geonhak with his eyes. _Will you do this for me? How far are you willing to go, just to please me?_

There’s a second, just a second, where Geonhak’s lips part, all movements halted. He seems to take him in, struggling with himself. Should he comply just to please him and surrender his pride, hence losing the very first battle of the day? Or should he refuse and lose his one and only chance to have access for the very first time to Seoho’s alluring, pretty mouth?  
  
In the end, Geonhak complies. But Seoho finds himself slightly distressed when he notices that the general does so with his dignity intact. He doesn’t move with the lethargy of someone who feels humiliated, but rather, with the ease of a man who feels confident in his decisions. And he can see it now, why his men respect him so much. Geonhak isn’t afraid to show that he’s only a man, yet another man in a sea of many, despite how much greater he may seem in comparison.   
  
When he gently parts a grape from its cluster, Seoho follows the movement with his eyes, afraid to look into his eyes again and get lost forever. 

"Will you not say _please,_ priest?” The other teases gently, shifting closer to reach him. He realizes then, what a mistake it was, to lay like that, when Geonhak looks all too overpowering. “Aren't the priests of the temple of the sacred fire known for their beauty and kindness?"

"We are. I just don't believe you deserve my consideration." 

" _Ah,_ I see." Geonhak laughs, a little husky breath of genuine amusement that softens any leftover ice surrounding Seoho’s heart.  
  
Seoho doesn’t move, he doesn’t breathe, think, when Geonhak finally feeds him. He parts his lips for him as if someone else was pulling the strings of his body, reveling in the little shudder Geonhak lets out when his fingers graze his rosy lips.  
  
His eyes never stray away from him, and he seems mesmerized, submerged in Seoho and his beauty, and the undeniable pull they feel for each other. Geonhak gives into himself and indulgently allows his thumb to caress Seoho’s now moist, bottom lip. He does it so with the kind of abandon someone reserves for the most beloved person in one’s life, and as he pulls away, as if burnt, Seoho’s left with an unsettling feeling of regret. It lingers, up until the second his heart stops attempting to beat its way out of his chest.

He doesn't know what possesses him when the breath of air rushes out of him. " _More._ " He says, demands, asks, begs -he doesn’t know at this point anymore. All he knows is that he wishes to feel the warmth of his fingers again, the sweetness of the fruit that melts in his tongue, made all the sweeter by the way Geonhak pushed it so sweetly into his mouth. And he knows Geonhak does too, because there’s a tension in the air, the kind of tension one feels and aches to the very bones. And how could Seoho deny him, when denying him would be like denying himself? 

"I should have known you'd be spoiled." Geonhak exhales, with a breathtakingly pretty smile. And although his words may be teasing, his eyes speak only of relief. And fondness.

So Geonhak does it again, but turns a little more daring, stealing touches that go beyond just the act of feeding him itself. And Seoho lets him, because he wants it so.

And it becomes sort of a game- how far will Seoho let him go before he pads of his fingers touch the inside of his mouth?  
  
Amidst sweet little treats, sighs, and stolen, feather-like brushed strokes Geonhak starts asking. 

Geonhak’s always asking, always probing and prying, meddlesome little questions that betray his glaring curiosity about his past, about his life in the temple, and above all, about the purity of his body 

"Have you never been kissed?" He asks, after he sucks the wetness of the same finger he has just fed Seoho with. It makes him shiver inevitably, the heat that surges down his spine forcing him to move back into a sitting position, if only to conceal it. He wonders if it always feels like this. Lust. Attraction. Wanting. Needing. Or is it just Geonhak? Will it ever stop? If he gave himself, right there and then, relinquished his body to the other’s care, would it stop? Or would it only grow? Stronger, bigger, hotter, scorching and overpowering, spreading all throughout him- until he can’t take it anymore?

"I'll allow you the kindness of time to figure that out, General.” Seoho clears his throat and swallows, feeling the heat of his skin grow overwhelmingly so when he realizes with embarrassment he has finished yet another cup. Geonhak’s amused little sound reaches his ears and helplessly redirects his attention back to the other. 

"Oh please, my priest. I can hardly believe your mouth was as well preserved as your _virtue_." The smirk that decorates the general’s face makes his insides churn uncomfortably and he huffs, so very warm he feels he may as well faint. But he refuses to, he refuses to allow Geonhak the pleasure of seeing him in such an undignified, defenseless state, thus offering him his defeat on a plate.

"Believe it or not, Kim Geonhak, I took my duty very seriously." 

" _Took?"_

Oh, _no._

No, please. Anything but this, please, just please let him go back in time, allow him this merciful little wish and he will do anything, anything at all. He’ll give his body, his life, his soul in order to fix this. Because in his haste to reply, Seoho has made a horrid, atrocious mistake.What a fool he’s been! If only he had measured his words, if only he had lied- or remained silent, at the very least!  
  
So long trying to hide the shameful truth that Geonhak possesses such power over his body, only to be thrown away in his carelessness. Oh he’d rather the goddess strike him down now, before letting Geonhak have the confirmation that it was _him_ the one to make him break sacred oath after sacred oath.

Would he have believed it, anyway, if Seoho had told him of secret encounters in between the halls of the temple with servant girls? Would he have believed his lie if the priest had told him that he was far from the first person to touch him? That Seoho can't even remember all the times he knew of the passions of the flesh behind closed doors, his sin hidden from the eldests? That he's sinned, over and over again, and that Geonhak is but an insignificant stain in his long trail of lust-filled encounters. He means nothing to him- the sacredness of Seoho's own body means nothing, has meant nothing for a really long time. 

But it's too late now. Because the general looks at him with the eyes of someone who has discovered an invaluable truth-and there's no turning back to coy smiles and dodging countering questions now whenever Geonhak yearns to know about his past. 

So he gives in. “ _Took_.” Seoho confirms, and surrenders more than he ever thought he could.  
  
“And yet you still go to the altar.” The words are soft, as if they knew a line has just been crossed and they wished to make amends. “What is it you do? What secrets do you tell your goddess?” Geonhak asks and offers him his own cup, for there’s no more wine in the jar.  
  
Seoho takes it, like a peace offering, and watches the easy swirl of the liquid. “Secrets are secrets for a reason, Geonhak.”   
  
There’s no need for him to explain further. He doesn’t need to speak of how the distance with the temple has somehow also pushed him away from his sacred duties to the point where it feels like that man isn't him anymore. He can still recite each and every prayer from memory, ingrained in his heart forever. And yet, when the time comes to say those prayers, the words refuse to form in his lips.  
  
“Then you’ll have to forgive my insolence.” The General replies with an easy smile, body relaxed and the exposed part of his chest flushed. He’s handsome, irresistibly so, and it isn’t hard for Seoho to purposely lose himself in Geonhak, in order not to think at all.  
  
By the time Geonhak offers him yet another fruit with his hands, his body acts on its own, and he opens up, takes it gladly. 

"Have you ever wondered… what it feels like? To be kissed." 

Geonhak wipes the wetness off his parted lips- and Goddess, does seoho wonder, does he fantasize with the idea of sliding his tongue, just the slightest bit and lick him. He wonders what it would feel to wrap his lips around Geonhak's thumb, suck the sweetness off it and lick him clean. Would he feel ashamed? Wanton? Daring? Above all, he wonders if Geonhak would let him get away with it, or if that would be the last straw before he finally snaps. If that does happen, Seoho wonders too what it would mean for a man like Geonhak to lose his patience. He's eager to know. Seoho wants to steal it from him, just like Geonhak has stolen secret after secret from him.

"No." 

Geonhak smiles and pulls away, and a whoosh of desire simmers under his skin and tugs at Seoho to reach for Geonhak, to earn his touch back. He wants, oh how he wants to feel the soft pressure on his lips, to taste the sticky sweetness in his skin and revel in the comforting warmth along his jaw. But Seoho controls himself, because there's a line that he's not willing to cross himself- even if perhaps, just perhaps he wishes Geonhak would cross it instead.

"Liar." Geonhak simply claims, and pops a fruit onto his own mouth instead as Seoho watches him mesmerized- and utterly pissed off. 

"You weren't supposed to touch me. No one was." Why would he wonder and make himself hurt? 

"And yet I've touched you. Over and over again. And the fire still burns, high and mighty just like the day you left it- and you still not wonder?" 

Seoho says nothing. He does not have the patience, nor the will to explain to Geonhak about the way of his Goddess. There’s silent agreement they’ve made sometime as they opened and adapted to each other, to not talk about each other’s faiths. They both know neither will renounce their deities, and it's pointless to try and bring the other to.  
  
“What about when you were a boy? Did they not touch you, then? To bathe you, to dress you?”  
  
Seoho shakes his head. offering Geonhak a little smile when he realizes how he has shamelessly changed the topic of conversation, for his comfort.  
  
“We washed each other, my brothers and sisters. But it was frowned upon to touch each other unless it was required.” He shares and slowly pushes the cup away when he realizes it’s in the middle of them both, as if it was the only obstacle standing left preventing Seoho from reaching out and touch him.

Geonhak notices the movement, and says nothing. 

“And how did they ever take care of you, if you ever got sick, injured?”  
  
The question returns him to that fatiguing winter night, where he felt himself almost die in the temple, death opening her arms to him almost invitingly, only to be held by life itself- by love, for it was an act of love that kept him alive.  
  
“There was a time, back when I was young, where it was so cold it snowed.” Seoho whispers, glancing back at the beautiful dusk next to him for a moment, before he lets his eyes go back to Geonhak. He tells the tale almost solemnly, with a detachment that only comes after having revisited the moment time and time again. “They made us perform a ritual outside, despite the freezing day. It was to bring back the sun, you see, it had been clouded for many, many days. A lot of us got sick. That night, not even the fire was enough to stop us from trembling.” Seoho continues as he lets his mind wander back to memories that feel almost worn out, after so much use. 

Geonhak regards him as if enraptured. The way his body is disposed, relaxed and somehow vigilant is nothing short of captivating. Inviting. And Seoho feels his heart pound when he comes to terms with the fact that it won’t be Geonhak falling into his arms in the end, and that Seoho was conquered the moment his voice wavered back in the fire chamber.  
  
 _Sweet, sweet defeat. May my Goddess forgive me for giving into you.  
  
_ So Seoho continues, eyes filled with unparalleled, staggering determination that meet Geonhak’s and prevail, stronger still. “There was an older lady. She took care of us, sometimes. And she saw me, shivering violently and she sat, just like that.” Seoho points at Geonhak, watches the way the other’s chest raises, unevenly. “She draped a blanket all over herself as I laid against her, like this.” Seoho speaks the last words, barely above a whisper and kneels. It feels like someone else has possessed him when he moves with a kind of calmness that he only ever felt on the brink of death. Seoho lets himself fall back in between Geonhak’s legs, the other’s chest against his back as he sinks into the protection of his embrace, for Geonhak receives him with the sweetest warmth he’s ever experienced. Seoho basks, rejoices in the way the other immediately moves to welcome him, his body molding to take Seoho in despite his evident shock, the hitch of his breath.  
  
“And then…” Seoho whispers, like a secret. “She put her arms around me-” The priest takes Geonhak’s arms and guides them all around his waist, across and up his chest. “Like this.”  
  
Their bodies lock, and Seoho feels a rightness in himself that overwhelms him so, he’s left breathless for a moment. Because as he finally inhales again, it’s life what fills him inside, what surrounds him and brings him back to himself.  
  
“And she saved me.” _Just like you saved me._  
  
Geonhak doesn’t say anything when he breathes him in, savouring every breath as if he was the most divine thing he’s ever felt. He holds him like a treasure, strong arms that feel like they would protect him from any evil and beyond, and before Seoho knows it, lips trail down the skin of his cheek. He cannot help himself, the way he leans into it with a jagged breath of urgency, like it’s imperative Geonhak does this or else he’ll _die._ Because he feels like he will. When he angles his head and closes his eyes, the burn of Geonhak’s lips blend into him and mark him inside, forever. And he thinks, somewhere in the dazed state of his mind, that it’s impossible for something to feel this good, and so very right.  
  
Until Geonhak gently tilts his head to the side and kisses him on the mouth.  
  
It’s love.  
  
It’s pure, raw love what he feels, what floods him inside and shakes him with the strength and fury of a natural disaster. It's love, love like the light of his fire that still burns in his heart, despite the hate he feels for it. It’s love like the warmth when embraced by care. It’s love that forgets to hate, even though it should, but cannot, stubbornly refuses to, because it hopes for more and it longs for more, and it’s fearless. Love that is fearless and abandoned to its own luck and fate, for it wishes nothing but to exist, freely, regardless of whatever consequences it might encounter. Love that is kind and accepts over and over again inconciliable differences, and forgives without having to forget. Love that fights and yields to nothing until its truth cannot be denied anymore. It’s love that loves more than itself, for the sacrifices it requires would ruin them both, and Seoho’s heart is too weak to do that to him.  
  
So as he’s kissed for the very first time, Seoho submits to the truth that it will also be his last.  
  
Because this love is definitely a curse, for there’s no way for any of them to escape each other without misery- or to stay and not die a little every day.  
  
Seoho must leave, before it consumes them both. 

.


	6. You Steal My Heart (And Run Away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night falls soon enough upon him, the mocking moon only a reminder that his priest is still nowhere to be found. She is cruel, just like Seoho is cruel, for abandoning him like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! <3  
> I think this is my fav one yet, so I really hope you enjoy it. I've kept it gathering dust in my docs for a week or so now, so I had time to give it some extra love.  
> As always, warnings for dramatiqueness and also- well. Moments of a highly possessive approach to their rship.

Seoho’s missing.  
  
It’s far from the first time this has happened. There are moments in which Geonhak just can’t find him. Nobody can. He just vanishes, blends into the turns of the halls, behind the closed doors of the rooms, somewhere in the shadowed corners of Geonhak’s immense palace. Sometimes it happens in the gardens, his white robes disappearing behind the large trees that have stood there longer than both of their lives combined. They’ve seen battles, blood, they’ve changed owners so many times that were they humans they’d probably wouldn’t bother to keep count of them. And Seoho, who bears either the magic or the wit of a great warlock, makes allies out of them with a single touch, and they transport them God knows where. He wonders if even God would know, with the use of dark magic, where Seoho goes to.  
  
Everything will be calm, and then, the yells of his men will reach him wherever he’s working for the day, whoever he’s with.  
  
“My lord,” They’ll knock on his door with somber, concerned expressions that convey the fear to see disappointment in their General’s eyes. And just by that Geonhak will know what they mean, not another word needed.  
  
“Find him, just find him.”  
  
The General has yet to find an explanation for it, but the burden of his suspicions regarding acts of pagan magic aren’t heavy enough to crush his desires to keep Seoho by his side, willingly if it’s possible. And so, he’s done his best to give him space, allow him to leave, disappear if he needs to. Because, after all, Seoho always comes back.  
  
This time, though, something's different. It’s been more than a day and nobody, not a single soul in Geonhak’s mighty palace has had a glimpse at those golden curls of his in the hours that have passed. And the general, who should have far more important issues to attend to, can do nothing but pace around his room, from one point to another, and then again until it feels he’s worn out the floor itself with his incessant, heavy steps.  
  
The concern that overtakes his body, his mind, allows him to think of nothing else as he tries his utmost best to keep himself calm and collected. It’s bad enough that he has all the staff behind one single, harmless little man. A defenseless, pretty boy has somehow beaten the twenty four seven surveillance set especially for him, dozens of guards, a hundred servants. He’s single handedly made a laughing stock out of Kim Geonhak and his men, and the last thing he needs right now is the news spreading through the walls of his palace. Nobody needs to know that not only has the priest effortlessly managed to escape him and his men, but that the General of the Eagle Legion is losing his head because of it.  
  
“Geonhak, this cannot go on like this. He has too much freedom.” Youngjo, who has a penchant for calling him by his name behind closed doors, comments uninvited and makes rage boil inside Geonhak’s body. Pettiness is not a suitable emotion for someone in his position, and yet all he wishes to do is demote him right there and then, just for attempting to venture Geonhak into distressing truths.  
  
He still paces around his room, and his friend, who would rather chase after the pretty maids that spare him more attention than he deserves, merely observes him, still as a statue by the door.  
  
“What do you suggest I do? Keep him on a collar?” There’s a moment of silence and Geonhak snaps his head up, spotting Youngjo's pursed lips that hint that yes, that indeed goes along the lines of his beliefs regarding how the issue should be solved. It makes Geonhak stop in his tracks, close his eyes, exhale. “I keep him in here, guards following his every track, is that not enough?”  
  
“Well perhaps, if you didn’t cater to his every whim…”  
  
“Leave.”  
  
“Geonhak- “  
  
“I can’t think with you here, _leave.”_ _  
_ _  
_“You can’t think because he has you bewitched.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You should stop him now-!”  
  
“And _you_ should remember I’m your superior who shall be treated with the due respect!”   
  
A sharp tension explodes through the air, so thick and heavy Geonhak almost considers yielding to Youngjo’s defiant- albeit betrayed- eyes. He knows he means well. Youngjo has been his loyal companion and confidant for longer that he’d like to acknowledge. He cannot count how many lives they owe to each other. 

Youngjo was - and still is- willing to sacrifice himself for the life of a General who has never- not once- left his men behind, who knows of sacrifice as well as his soldiers do, and who has never pulled rank before unless absolutely necessary.  
  
But Geonhak also knows this is not the time to have his authority questioned, when he needs his people ready and willing without a single drop of hesitation. Not letting Youngjo forget he’s his General before he’s his friend is a necessary evil Geonhak must impose- and endure-whatever the cost.  
  
Youngjo finally lowers his eyes and Geonhak finally breathes again, the tension bleeding out from his body with the kind of relief only a cool breeze can provide, under the hottest summer sun.  
  
“Yes, sir. I apologize.”  
  
“You’re dismissed.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Youngjo?” He stops him, just before he can close the door behind him, softer now, with less of an emotional shield covering him whole and ready for a batte. He’s always ready for battle. “Ease your worries. I know what I’m doing.”  
  
“I know, sir." A pause. "It’s him I don’t trust.”  
  
“I have to keep him close, Youngjo. I can’t do that if he sees me as the enemy. I can’t do what you ask of me.” The ignored truth that Seoho has been more than just a political strategy since day one, goes unsaid. 

Youngjo does not need to know just how deep he's fallen, now that he's known the sweetness of his embrace, of his lips. He needs not know of the raw panic Geonhak feels at the mere idea of never feeling Seoho against him, of never laying eyes upon such unique, true beauty.  
  
Youngjo nods and his eyes carry the sort of defeat no soldier should ever carry. “The men- me. We would follow you to the end of the world if you asked. But it’s _you_ we would gladly die for, Geonhak. Not him- never him.”

He leaves, and his words resound in Geonhak's head for longer than he knows.  
  
…  
  
  
The night falls soon enough upon him, the mocking moon only a reminder that his priest is still nowhere to be found. She is cruel, just like Seoho is cruel, for abandoning him like this. 

How dare he leave after allowing Geonhak the warmth of his body, the exquisite softness of his lips? Himself to hold, to feel, to touch and caress. And he had done so with such freedom too, his slightly quivering figure molding against his body as if he was made for him. As if they were made for each other.  
  
To preserve the peace, Geonhak spreads the word that the priest has been found, that he’s safely within the confines of his room, and sends two men to guard his door to keep appearances, dissipate any rumours. Meanwhile he gathers a group of his most trusted men-the ones who would dare to lie to even kings for him- and instructs them to keep looking. Geonhak knows it’s pointless. If his priest doesn’t wish to be found, he won’t be, no matter how much sweat and blood the general is willing to put into it. But there’s something terribly wrong with the idea of stopping his quest altogether, just to please the darkness of the night.  
  
Geonhak is no stranger to loneliness, but the comfort of Seoho’s company before he decides to call it a day became a constant in the past days. Part of him reproaches his weakness, the way he so easily and willingly became a prisoner of his priest’s attention, his proximity. But the rest of him understands, that the day he entered that chamber and saw him for the very first time, his fate was sealed.  
  
He wonders, at times, had he known, would he have done anything to avoid it?  
  
No matter how many times he thinks about it, his mind always finds the same answer.  
  
Geonhak is aware there’s nothing left for him to do tonight, and yet, he’s restless. He’s a prey of his worries, the fear that something might have happened to him. Or worse, still. Perhaps Seoho has finally renounced him. And perhaps Geonhak has been a fool all this time, believing his priest would accept him just soon enough, just right before his heart could burst from yearning so truthfully. Perhaps he's been tricked, fooled, and all of it was but a lie. What he feels is a lie, _he_ is a lie. It's terrifying, a torment to even think about that, about how maybe he was just too deep into his own bliss and too unaware of their imminent departure to do anything about it.  
  
He wouldn’t have let him.  
  
Geonhak would have done anything to keep him by his side, even if it meant tying Seoho to himself, marry him not only in the eyes of Geonhak’s god, but for the eyes of Seoho’s Goddess too, so maybe that way he’d be forced to stay. And it’s then that Geonhak accepts just how deep his affections run. They’re raw, rebellious, uncontrollable, ravaging. They’ll pillage and plunder anything that dares oppose them in their quest to satisfy the unquenchable thirst that took over his body and mind the moment he laid eyes on the beauty that is Seoho. They’re like warriors that have been deprived from war for way too long and the moment they’re sent into battle, they forget every ounce of their humanity. So much so, that once they’ve managed to destroy it all, they’ll look at their reflection and find only a monster looking back at them.  
  
Geonhak has known pure elation by being allowed to be close to his priest. Speaking to him, knowing him, touching him, kissing him feels like it’s only the teasing start of a realness Geonhak cannot begin to comprehend. Having that withdrawn from him is the only kind of torture Geonhak was never trained for.  
  
And now here he is, worthless yet again and defeated in that wicked game they should never have started in the first place. An overpowering feeling of inadequacy takes over him when he notices he’s been taking pitiful glances at the door for hours now, in hopes that Seoho will open it and throw himself into his arms in a grand gesture of sweet conciliation.  
  
Geonhak smashes a jar against the wall in his rage.  
  


If anyone hears, they don't make it known.  
  
  
His restlessness settles down only when his body is too tired to keep up with the twists and turns of his mind, and he finds comfort in the strangeness of a dream that refuses to completely take him away. He’s left gravitating between two worlds, tugged pleasantly here and there. He isn’t sure what is real and what isn’t, but the comfort of his bedding against his bare back manages to appease most of his worries.  
  
There’s a soft, steady breeze, that strokes him with gentle insistence. And then discomfort. It’s his body, forewarning him of danger. There’s weight, too close and substantial to be a dream-  
  
Someone is there.  
  
There’s a flash, just a swift jerk of his body and Geonhak has reached for the knife under his pillow, holding it just inches away from the throat of-  
  
Of milky skin and stunning warm eyes that find his even across the dark.  
  
The windows are open, and the moon returns to her kind nature now, for she gifts Geonhak with just enough light to be able to appreciate Seoho’s beautiful sharp features as he comes back to the land of reality.  
  
It's just Seoho, his precious Seoho, who returns to him from the abyss of the unknown. It’s just him, his sweet, loving priest, who hushes him softly and eases the knife from his hand. There’s no fear in his face, no hesitation as he does so.  
  
He’s not harmed, Geonhak’s dazed mind provides. But he dares not speak, he dares not move, in case this is a cruel trick of his mind and Seoho is just a dream, a mirage that will vanish in front of his eyes the moment he tries to reach for it. Geonhak cannot let that happen, not when it’s not anger that washes over him at the sight of him, but pure, fresh relief. Relief that is sweet, that is forgiving, and feels so good he can’t help but bask in it.  
  


And he wonders, somewhere in this drunken state, when did he start trusting his priest so much as to allow him his own weapon, laying completely defenseless before him? 

But Seoho must leave his knife aside, because much to his confusion, it is not the sharp stab of a knife that sinks onto his chest, but the gentle weight of Seoho's head as he lays next and on top of him without a single word of explanation. It’s far from helpful for Geonhak, who’s desperate for a hint that this is real, that he’s not created all of this himself in order to alleviate the burden of his worries.  
  
Seoho’s soft cheek is cushioned against his chest. His warm hand settles daringly low on his bare stomach, palm spread in a way that reaches dangerous areas of Geonhak's body. Areas that haven't been touched in so long, he can’t remember what it feels like anymore. It's the gentle touch of a lover, the one Seoho offers him tonight. It tells him that this isn’t a dream, it can’t possibly be one, because Geonhak would never- not in his wildest dreams- be able to conjure such a heavenly moment. It’s real, this cannot be a dream, and if it is, please, let him never wake up, if only to revel in this blissful delusion until the end of times.  
  
The warmth that Seoho exudes is enough to have him overheated, skin burning almost painfully as he awakes to each and every inch of themselves that are joined. But Seoho doesn't seem to care, he doesn't seem to notice the way Geonhak's heart is beating violently, forcefully right under his ear. It seems to scream at him, painful yells and demands to be heard. _Listen to me, I am here. I beat for you, I live for you. Hear me, please hear me, I'm all yours. Take me, please take me._ _  
_ _  
_There’s wetness on his chest but Geonhak doesn’t seem to comprehend the implications of it until the shuddering exhale that Seoho lets out makes his whole body tremble. It’s enough to yank Geonhak from his idleness, that he fears might be perceived as apathy.  
  
“Seoho.” Geonhak finally exhales, cradling him with so much care, in fear he’ll dissolve in his arms, break down further.

He's crying. Tears that look like crystal on his chest, glinting and sliding down his skin like a drop of rain down a leaf. Geonhak wishes to look at him but he's unable to even see the other's face as they lay like only true lovers do.  
  
“I tried to leave you.” Seoho whispers, his voice, usually secure and unwavering, sounds so terribly vulnerable now, that Geonhak has to strain his ear to hear his words. “But I couldn’t. I tried- Geonhak, I did-”  
  
“Are you harmed?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Geonhak- I wanted to leave, I did. I was going to leave and free us both from this torture-”  
  
“Shhh, speak no more.” Geonhak strokes through the golden curls of Seoho’s hair, the kind of honour he never thought he’d be granted, so freely, so willingly. It feels too good to be true.  
  
Perhaps this is a trap, perhaps this is just yet another way for Seoho to play with him and his heart. He’ll leave and make an excrutiating torture of his absence, only to come back and lift him up in the most painful of returns. Only to abandon him, yet again.  
  
And if it is...Geonhak will walk right into it.  
  
“Do you hate me now?” Seoho whispers once he’s calmed down, and little muted sobs no longer rack over his body. His gentle breath caresses over his skin in a way that makes him shiver. Little by little, Seoho’s hand moves minutely, soft, minimal movements until his nails are tracing mindless little patterns on his stomach that will drive him delirious with pleasure, should he not stop soon.  
  
“No. I could never.” Geonhak speaks, and speaks truth. His free hand covers Seoho’s completely and his thumb stokes over it instead, to compensate for what may feel like a little rejection of his touches. It's the contrary of it, in fact. He wants them, oh how he wants them. But it’s not their time. Not yet.  
  
“The Goddess does. That’s why she sends me back to you, curses me to be your prisoner forever.”

There are a million words he'd like to say, questions he dies to ask. 

_Am I really a curse to you? Or do you also feel blessed by this fate that brought us together?_ _If you're my prisoner then so I'm yours. Allow me my freedom and I'll grant you yours. You can't, can you? I can't either. This goes beyond us both._

Geonhak doesn't reply.

Sometimes, words are only a burden. And so, he allows the strangely comforting silence to cover them like a blanket. The mention of Seoho's goddess reminds Geonhak of twisted suspicions he'd much rather forget, even if it costs him his own free will. If this is dark, pagan magic, may God forgive him, for he's too weak a man to fight it anymore.  
  
“I’ve always wanted this. To lay with someone.” The confession slips from Seoho's lips unprompted, as if by accident. It's a rare occasion. Seoho’s one to share if properly asked, but he rarely does so about his past. And never has he shared about his past desires of all things. Geonhak thanks him for it with a sweet stroke on his neck.  
  
“Is it what you expected it to be?” Geonhak whispers against his head, letting his lips drag against the softness of his curls indulgently.

“No. It's too warm.” A chuckle, a shy little sighed chuckle that vibrates against his body, as if that way, Geonhak will carry it with himself forever. 

"And yet you stay." 

"And yet I do." 

Geonhak smiles, and lets the conversation die into the soothing silence of the night.  
  
There’s change in the air, change between them and in themselves. Geonhak can feel it, in the way Seoho continues to melt against him, not a single resistance between their bodies. He’s serene and consenting, willing to open up to Geonhak should he ask, in a way he wasn't before even as he was kissed.  
  
And now that Geonhak has everything he could possibly ask for, he doesn’t dare to anymore. All that force of passion, that impulse that pushed and pulsated towards Seoho with ruthless abandon has somehow dimmed down to slight, tender motions of fondness that tingle all over his skin. It doesn’t urge, it doesn’t demand. He needs do nothing, he wants to do nothing, as long as he has him, impossibly close like this. It’s like he doesn’t know where he ends, and where Seoho starts.  
  
“Seoho?”  
  
A little sleepy hum barely reaches his ears, but he feels it vibrate against his body. Seoho’s so soft and warm, so pliant next to him, his body relaxed in a way he didn’t think was possible around Geonhak.  
  
“Stay."  
  
 _Please. I beg you. I’ll get on my knees if I must, but please, stay with me.I cannot force you, I know I can’t because even if I could, I’d be too weak to hurt you in any way and confine you to a life of misery. Want me, love me, choose me, please._ _  
_ _  
_Many words go unsaid, but Geonhak thinks Seoho hears them anyways, because he tilts his head slightly up and presses a gentle kiss on Geonhak’s throat, right where his pulse beats unconditionally for him.  
  


"I'll stay, for as long as you ever want me."

Seoho may not understand it then, but for Geonhak, that means forever.

.


	7. There's No Other Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Seoho doesn't know is whether he feels owner of what Geonhak owns, or owned by what Geonhak owns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is the newest addition to the series- turned story lmao. It's been like three months or smth and I can't believe it. Anyways I recommend rereading the previous one so you have more or less an idea of what just happened before this. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enoy!

.

Seoho dies at night, and revives in the morning.    
  
That is what the priest has always thought. Nights where his body and mind succumb to the dreamless rest, nothing but blackness wrapping around him in a warm embrace, a hollowness that merges him into the vast, peaceful nothing.    
  
But then there’s life- warm gentle light that wakes him, kisses and caresses his bare skin like a sweet reminder that there’s a world around him. Coldness and heat that disrupt the pretentious peace his body seemed to crave so deeply- it’s life that awaits him, that expects and demands his presence in the earthly world, so anxious to lose him to the void of nothing, it drapes all over him and pulls and pulls at him to stay with devout resolve. His time hasn’t come yet, he must stay, he must wake and face it-

Face  _ him _ .    
  
Because it’s not life, or the world nor his goddess whose arms wrap around him and push him in against the heat. It’s Geonhak. His warm, earnest body covering Seoho’s as an effort to shield him from the cool morning air that seeps through the open windows. A body that acts even in its sleep, covering him from the insistent early sun, whose shine announces the day has finally begun. They must part, and Geonhak, though still asleep, refuses to let him go, at risk of losing him again.    
  
It’s with clouded eyes and sluggish hands that Seoho quietly unbinds himself from Geonhak’s embrace, regretting it the moment the cold seems to crawl up to his bones- his soul. He sits up with his arms around himself and allows himself a moment, just a moment, to observe Geonhak. He looks peaceful like that, harmless. His skin displays a youthfulness Seoho has never seen in him, tainted by the mountains and seas of duty that fall on his shoulders from a young age.    
  
He looks vulnerable, Seoho thinks. Not like a general, no. He barely even looks like a man, with those rosy cheeks and disheveled hair falling all over his eyes messily. And Seoho, who was always possessed by such rage at the sight of him, finds that the ruthless whirl of feelings within himself has turned into benevolent, tender affection. Something that runs so deep through him, it’s part of him now- and forever.    
  
So when the metallic light catches his eye- Geonhak’s little knife lying amidst the crumpled white sheet, looking as beautiful as it is lethal, he understands that there’s no coming back anymore. For that blade would have been his way to freedom, once not long ago. And now, he thinks his freedom is lying before him. Temptation comes in the form of a kiss that he presses against Geonhak’s temple- and not the harsh stab of metal in his heart that Seoho used to madly fantasize about before. 

But Seoho takes it nonetheless- albeit with a gentleness one would save for a precious object. Seoho observes it, takes it all in and deems it precious- for its charm lies not on its attributed deathliness, the sharpness of the unforgiving blade, no. It's precious because it belongs to Geonhak- and somehow, as he sees the smooth metal catch the light, reflecting his perfect image for a moment, he feels himself part of the dagger- and the dagger, part of himself.

What Seoho doesn't know is whether he feels owner of what Geonhak owns, or owned by what Geonhak owns. 

The priest slips out of Geonhak’s room filled with regret, like a phantasmal vision, never there. He slips through the floor, a loose tile in a forgotten corner of Geonhak’s room, a world of secrecy hidden away beyond what the eye can see. It’s dark and humid, the coldness crawling from the soil to his bare feet, dirtying his skin, his robe- and still Seoho walks, a hand on the walls of the cramped space as he navigates it by heart, humming a little song to himself. 

And as he walks through the passages, he's confronted with a choice, the path that splits into two different opportunities- two different lives.    
  
To run away, once more, now that he’s made his peace with Geonhak. Or to stay, and face the consequences of his heart’s desires like the man he’s grown to be.    


To face his destiny, or to rebel against it and live with the uncertainty of his choice. 

_ Stay _

Seoho remembers his words whispered as promises just the night before, the vows he’s made to Geonhak, the moon and the stars. The sacredness of them are not to be taken lightly- Seoho knows his Goddess has heard them as well. She has heard him pledge himself to a man that has taken her city by force, wronged her without a chance at redemption. And Seoho, who at times believes it’s her will to be trapped with Geonhak forever, understands that, should he be wrong- if he’s granted himself to Geonhak against her will, there shall be no forgiveness for him.    
  
Seoho’s alone now. 

And in the end, he stays. Because the priest tried leaving already, he’s known of the failure and regret of leaving the castle, Geonhak. But Seoho hasn't yet tried staying- truly staying.   
  
Seoho reaches his room soon enough afterwards, pushing the door open with great effort- only to fall helplessly into the arms of a smaller man, who aids him before he can stumble into the floor. The hands are extremely careful to avoid touching any inch of skin, merely holding him up by the side where his robes cover him properly.    
  
“Priest! We were told you were back in the castle last night, but I couldn’t believe it- I sent word to my friends asking if you had reached the destination safely- but you didn’t! I was so concerned- were you captured? Oh Goddess, you’re terribly cold- please allow me to-”   
  
“Hwanwoong.” Seoho soothes, standing upright and setting an assuring hand on his servant - and confidant’s shoulder, smiling softly at his display of concern. He feels terribly regretful, knowing of all the effort Hwanwoong and his contacts had made to help him out, only to betray their trust and hard work to come back running into Geonhak’s arms. “I am fine, you need not worry.”    
  
Hwanwoong’s shock at being touched is evident all over his face- and Seoho, whose body still protests at the cold and tiredness, can’t help but smile wider, amused at the reaction. He enjoys it, enjoys the feeling of Hwanwoong’s clothed shoulder against his palm, the way he’s so slight Seoho could engulf him- and perhaps one day he will, he hopes.    
  
The servant is respectful and demure enough to close his mouth and help him inside, making sure to seal the passage with skilled swiftness before any unwanted intruder can spot it.    
  
Seoho walks up to his bed and sits on it, watching him work with a sheepish feeling of guilt.    
He sees the way the other glances his way every now and then, a million questions hidden in his eyes, his disappointment and concern only mildly masked by his dedicated attitude. And the priest, who was never allowed to befriend a servant before in his life, thinks that, had they had more time, Hwanwoong would have become a wonderful friend of his.    
  
It was strange at first, the young boy was assigned to him mere weeks ago. His bright, keen eyes seemed eager to serve him- curious, peculiarly so. Hwanwoong was one of the few that dared to look him in the eyes, raised his chin up confidently as he spoke, and didn’t tremble when Seoho addressed him sharply, a little mean ploy of Seoho’s to test the boy’s confidence.

  
So it came as no surprise, when a few days earlier Hwanwoong hurried into his room uninvited, somehow managing to get rid of the guards on his door for a moment. It startled Seoho to his very core, as he watched helplessly- almost horrified- the way the younger boy kneeled on the floor and pledged himself to him, offering him his unconditional loyalty in hopes of being of help if only to do the Goddess’s bidding.    
  
Seoho did not have the heart to deny him- nor explain to his sweet earnest looks that Seoho couldn’t give him what he so desperately wanted. 

The priest feels the warmth of a blanket being thrown around his shoulders, and exhales, realizing only now that he’d been trembling all this time. Hwanwoong’s little tugs at the fabric rustle him in his place, and he stops his hands kindly with the blanket over his fingers, thanking him quietly.    
  
“My priest… what happened?” Hwanwoong’s voice sounds unsure, uncertain, as though he were talking of something forbidden- or worse, something harmful. Seoho believes his concern, just like he’s always believed in Hwanwoong, albeit naively. .    
  
He welcomed Hwanwoong as a part of his routinary life with an eagerness that Seoho can now understand it was due to his loneliness. He shouldn’t have, the priest thinks, Hwanwoong could have been ill-intentioned, he could have been sent by Geonhak to spy on him and yet- and yet Seoho wouldn’t have minded, either way. He’s just grateful to have someone around, whoever that is.    
  
Loneliness is a heavy burden, and Seoho’s too tired to continue carrying it around on his own.    
  
Seoho offers Hwanwoong a wholehearted look as the other kneels by him, awaiting his response. And Seoho’s fond of him, he knows that much- and he cherishes the feeling more than he may know.    
  
So for him, Seoho takes a deep breath and begins. He tells Hwanwoong all about the outside, and everything he felt, because he owes him at least that much. After all, it was Hwanwoong who helped him walk the passages until they found the path that went beyond the walls. It was Hwanwoong who arranged for his people to wait for Seoho at a planned location, to assure his safety and wellbeing, a safe way to leave the city. It was Hwanwoong who prepared him food and explained the way to him, over and over again until Seoho could imagine it bright and clean in his mind.    
  
But once he stepped foot outside- all the determination, all the conviction and tenacity he had, crumbled down within him as his knees weakened, fear overwhelming him along with the unbearably tightness of regret. Seoho tells Hwanwoong about that. He tells him about the people, the loudness, the paralyzing brightness that didn’t let him think, didn’t allow him to move.   
  
Eyes, too many of them, piercing through his clothing and to his very soul, as people walked past him and set his skin ablaze with each brush. It was unbearable, to be close to the cramped, confusing streets, the scents of the market jumbling together, making him sick.    
  


Seoho thinks he would have made it, perhaps, if only he hadn’t been pushed into the heated crowd of indigned citizens, all of which were listening to a man who preached for freedom, who called for people to rise against Geonhak’s oppression-  _ restore the glory of the city _ , he spoke, loud and clear for Seoho to hear despite the loudness that surrounded him and his eyes, fixated on the floor, unable to look up and see him.    
  


“They wanted  _ me. _ ” Seoho breathes out in a shaky breath. “They said… the goddess hasn’t allowed them to retake the city because I remain here still, with him.”   
  
Seoho feels defeated and regretful, still shaken. He can still hear them, every time he closes his eyes- the restlessness of the people, of the group of faithful that reject the new order, willing to do anything and more to burn it down if they must. He remembers their words, loud and clear, ringing in his ears,   
  
_ It’s a punishment,  _ it was repeated, over and over.  _ The Goddess’ punishment _ .    
  
“She's furious for the desertion of her temple and the lack of devotion- they call for my immediate return. They claim that if Geonhak hasn’t done it yet, it can only mean my death. Or- or worse yet- that I’m a traitor, and I share guilt.”   
  
Seoho’s hands tremble, voice falling into a quiet whisper in the end. The priest spots Hwanwoong’s first reaction to take them, to comfort him, though he regains control of his instincts just in time before he can reach out and touch him, well used to the distance he’s bound to keep, out of respect.

Seoho tells him all- all but the terrible guilt of having left Geonhak, wondering whether he was being searched for, seeked, the bleak image of betrayal in his eyes making every step away from the castle harder, even more tedious. Until it seemed like he was betraying himself instead of him.    
  
The painful realness of the outside world, colliding into him brutally- hostile and cruel, much unlike waking up that morning. And Seoho couldn’t go on, not like that- not with the unforgiving guilt he’d carry with himself forever, should he abandon Geonhak to never return.    
  
“You must be disillusioned.” Seoho says softly, enticing an immediate negative response from Hwanwoong, who dares sit next to him if only to convey how earnest he is.    
  
“Of course not, my priest. It was too dangerous- you did well to come back.” Hwanwoong affirms, nodding out of conviction. And Seoho feels the tug of nostalgia when he spots the certainty in Hwanwoong’s semblance. He misses the simpler times when he knew what to think of things, of people- back when there was distinct good and evil, back when darkness was dark and light was bright and benevolent in his eyes. 

  
“If you're a worshipper, you can't possibly want me back here." Seoho insists, determined to make his regret be known, be forgiven- should Hwanwoong have it in himself to understand his heart. “We’ve been conquered, and yet I remain here while people fight for freedom. I’m not worthy to be a priest.” 

"No! Don’t say that, priest. There are many of us who care for you and wish only for your safety. We knew the moment those walls were breached that it was the end of life as we knew it. We hoped the religious leaders would stand by us- yet they all left. All of them but you. We're grateful, Lee Seoho - the fire still burns thanks to your sacrifice." 

Seoho’s eyes sting with unshed tears of gratefulness and an incomprehensible type of adoration he’s never experienced yet in his young, desolate life. He burrows himself further in the warmth of the blanket, and basks in the heat of it, and Hwanwoong’s healing company. “I don’t deserve your loyalty- do you not want me- do you not expect me to fight back?”

"This is no fight we can win, priest.” Hwanwoong replies with a wisdom that goes well beyond his years. “We cannot hand you over to those who fight against the will of the gods- we'd be sending you to your death, along with the death of many others." 

"The will of the gods?"

Hwanwoong nods, and the frown of confusion Seoho displays is only encouragement for him to continue. "You couldn't have known it, locked inside the temple as you were-” Hwanwoong begins, only to interrupt himself to glance back at the door in an unusual demonstration of jittery unease- as though he were talking of forbidden issues. “Things… they were not good out there. There was hunger, chaos, disease, so much greed from those who were supposed to protect us- the temple was corrupted, you should know." It’s an eye opening blow the priest doesn’t expect to hear- but sheltered as he was, trained into obedience from his most tender years, he doesn’t seem to be able to recall- or perhaps, perhaps he does. Images of the eldest going through bags and bags of money, precious art that was brought in with every new moon- and food that could only be considered as exotic. The charity and gentleness for worshipper that always seemed to be lacking- it all comes crashing down onto him with a new, clear understanding, and he keeps still, unable to make anything out of it yet. But Hwanwoong continues, ignoring Seoho’s inner turmoil of reproach at how blind he’d been all this time.    
  
"What once used to be a grand, benign place for worship became the biggest source of corruption- soon, the city became corrupted.” The young man pauses, swallowing for a moment as he seems to clear the emotion in his voice. “That is why we have received this punishment. The goddess shall truly abandon us all very soon for our greed, she punished us with the siege, showed us all of her wrath with the invasion- but she's good, because even in her wrath she has brought us food and order, she has not let our people die in battle. And above all she has protected you." 

"Me?" Bewilderment must be clear in his voice, for Hwanwoong smiles with a fondness that one would reserve for a child. 

"Yes. You, priest. You have been placed next to the man who can be either our salvation- or ruin. You have earned his affections, his adoration- you must keep them so. Once the goddess finally abandons us- you're our only hope. Don't let him punish us for our gods, don't let him destroy the temples- don't let him destroy people's faith and their hearts." 

Seoho inhales, taking Hwanwoong’s words and making them his own, as if they were the direct words of his Goddess. His sweet, gracious Goddess who talks to him with tender encouragement- yet, she lies onto him a great responsibility, one Seoho is afraid he cannot fulfill.    
  
"Hwanwoong. How do you know so much about the will of the gods? of Her?" 

The servant looks flustered, averting his eyes to his lap as he seems to return to his true age for the time being. "Ah, I do not, priest. I just know the Goddess is good, and kind, that she would never be cruel to us for the sins of others- I’m faithful, and I know you are too.”

Once more, like history repeating itself, Seoho does not have the heart to prove Hwanwoong wrong by showing him the realness of the disgrace he’s always been, and he smiles softly, knowing that is just what the young servant needs to stay at ease, so full of inspiring, enviable hope- Seoho can only allow him to infect him with it. 

"I must leave you now-" Hwanwoong attempts to stand up before Seoho stops him through the blanket, with a hand on his leg. 

"Wait, Hwanwoong. The goddess- you say she has not… she has not abandoned us yet? What makes you so certain?" 

"Does she not speak to you?" 

"No. Not anymore." Not ever. 

"She hasn't abandoned us, priest. When it happens, we shall know."

_ Fire _ . 

Seoho swallows, air so thin around him he cannot seem to breathe properly anymore.   
  
"And what- what will happen then?"    
  
Hwanwoong regards him, that glint of wisdom making Seoho feel as though he were talking to one of the old scholars instead. He feels inadequate at best- shameful to display such ignorance at topics he should excel at by the nature of his position. But Hwanwoong seems to understand, something akin to pity, sympathy perhaps, that takes over and softens his surprise at Seoho’s question. It kills some of the loneliness in Seoho’s heart because for once, he feels understood in ways Geonhak couldn’t, due to his foreign condition, his own God. 

"You'll be freed, Seoho." Hwanwoong replies, speaks it like a truth that cannot be defied. Because whether they want it or not, the Goddess shall abandon them, and Seoho will be freed- there’s no other way. .    
  
So as Hwanwoong leaves his room with the promise of bringing him replenishing food for his state, Seoho somehow understands that his actions the previous days might as well have been dictated- not by his affections for Geonhak, no. His Goddess, perhaps. Or the deeply rooted knowledge that this is where he belongs now. 

Seoho feels the shame dissolve inside of him, allows everything to come crashing down as he falls back on the bed. He longs for Geonhak’s warmth next to him, his silent, rough comfort, and the sweet embrace of his arms. But Seoho wishes not to go to him, afraid of losing himself irremediably- though perhaps he already has, the moment he let geonhak govern him. Or maybe he is not yet ready to let go of their little game, if only to maintain that childish sort of pride they both share, and that has brought them together in more ways they know.    
  
But it runs deeper than that, Seoho knows. He knows of the way he trembles at the idea of being forgotten, the way he refuses to allow Geonhak to stop wanting him, pursuing him with all his self. And were he not afraid of revealing the depth of his feelings and hand Geonhak the type of power no one should ever have over someone else, Seoho would press his lips against his ears and tell him.  _ Don’t stop, never stop, keep me in your heart, body and soul forever. Because should you stop, you’d kill me while I keep on living- a restless death that would reduce my life to ashes. Keep me close and don’t let go, even if fate will have it otherwise.  _

And, what if his Goddess will have it otherwise? Would he submit? Would he abide if only to stay in her good graces and pay the respects he owes?    
  
No. His Goddess would never ask such a thing from him- because she’s not a Goddess of death and destruction, and should she need to punish him or ask for proof of his devotion, Seoho is certain he would live to see the consequences of it.    
  
Seoho remembers Hwanwoong’s words and tests them on his tongue. If the Goddess wants him here then Seoho is right, and Geonhak is both his punishment and his chance at redemption. He is to be a prisoner of his feelings for a man that should be his enemy- but he is to stay and do his best for his people, even if he’ll be labeled a traitor.    
  


_ Oh _ , Seoho sighs, she's as ruthless as she's merciful, he decides. Because of all the possible punishments she could have bestowed upon him, she has chosen the sweetest one yet: to remain a prisoner, out of his own will.   


.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it all the way through here, thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!! They help a bunch <3
> 
> If you wanna come talk to me here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/olisforest) and [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/olisforest) <3 (im super friendly, I promise)


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